


Two Years Behind the Blade

by Flirting Spritzy (ladyspritzy)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Lemon, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspritzy/pseuds/Flirting%20Spritzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoro's been given two years to heal, grow strong, and learn the subtler arts of the blade. Under the careful eye of Mihawk the young man learns, unknowing of the shichibukai's growing desires. MihawkXZoro, rated M for adult content in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All One Piece characters, places, situations, et cetera are the property of Eiichiro Oda. This story is rated M for adult language and later adult content. This story takes place during the two-year time skip between chapters 597 and 598, so if you don't care much for spoilers and the like, I suggest you don't read.

**Prologue**

In the sky, the sun was high enough that it merely caught glimpses of itself in the mirror of the ocean, and small clouds ambled along. A light breeze whispered encouragement to the waves, and they pushed playfully against the sides of the small, dark boat that drifted in the water.

Mihawk was settled comfortably in his chair, the wide brim of his hat low enough so that light from above could not harass him and high enough so that he could watch the horizon. The wind tugged gently at both the feather in the man's cap and at the hem of his coat. Kokuto Yoru rested on his lap, glimmering in the sun as he ran a tattered cleaning cloth along its blade. As the shichibukai worked, a small, rare smiled touched upon his lips.

There was still treasure to be found in the East Blue, by the look of things. Mihawk gave a grunt of the mildest surprise: apparently a rival could be found in the same ocean where he lost the last one. Unfortunately, the boy was still in the rough; however, that could be easily remedied by time on the Grand Line: the pirate's graveyard's legacy has always been to weed out the weak and empower the strong.

The shichibukai wondered at what kind of gem young Roronora would be cut into by the years.

Yoru flashed in the sun, proving itself free of blood and flesh. Mihawk set the gore-stained cleaning cloth aside and raised his famous blade for a more critical inspection. The black blade was as immaculate as the day it was forged, except for a miniscule streak of blood. The shichibukai stared at the sanguine crust on his sword for a second while he silently considered how to deal with it. Finally, he licked his thumb and rubbed vigorously at the stain, softening the blood enough that he could flake it off with a fingernail.

Once he was finished, Mihawk wondered at how to dispose of what had transferred to his fingers. An insignificant amount of consideration went into the gesture as he removed the blood from his fingertips with his tongue. It was an old habit, one the shichibukai knew he should break, but his curiosity for the taste of young Roronora's blood, despite how crusted the substance was, was overwhelming. The salt on his hands overpowered the meager flecks, and only the fleeting, metallic pang of the blood reached him. Ever so slightly did Mihawk's left eye twitch in irritation, but only the best-trained set of eyes would have seen the movement.

Finally, the shichibukai was content with the state of his blade. By practiced hands, Yoru was replaced in its sheath with only the faintest ring of metal and Kogatana was plucked off of its master's lap to be cleaned. The smaller blade was crystallized in organic rust, and for a second time that day Mihawk found himself with another's lifeblood in his mouth.

Disappointment descended on the shichibukai as the tang of iron filled his mouth. The scab on his blade tasted like any other—like metal starting to go bad. Kogatana was removed from its master's mouth and cleaned off with the splotched rag before being returned to its sheath around Mihawk's neck.

Unimpressive though the taste was, the swordsman was not disheartened. The child had been amazing, armed with determination that was surprisingly rare in the age of piracy. His captain seemed to be too, and if there were two of them, more were bound to be drawn in. The shichibukai found himself starting to warm up to the thought of a whole crew as spirited as those boys.

From the distance came the cry of a gull, weak and lonely on the light wind. Mihawk tilted his head up just a little higher and his eyes locked on to the horizon. Even to him, the border of sea and sky was hazy. However, he could make out the faintest hint of land.

A cloud drifted lazily in front of the sun, dimming the world as the shichibukai crossed his legs and folded his hands lightly in his lap. His head bowed slightly, and within five minutes he was asleep.

Mihawk dreamed pleasantly, but when he woke, he couldn't remember what had been the subject of his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yesh, is short, and yesh, not much going on right here/right now. This prologue is meant to be a small little bit, a small tasting of Mihawk's first impression of Zoro. More to come, obviously.
> 
> As I am,
> 
> Lady Spritzy


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Mihawk sat silently in his high backed chair, listening to retreating footfalls echoing from down the hall as he reprocessed what had just happened. Zoro's gait sounded staccato, and blood had been dripping off of him then entire time: obviously, the baboons had done a number on the young swordsman. The shichibukai had been surprised to see the Straw Hat swordsman return, especially after his prideful rejection of a safe place in the castle, but the greatest shock had come from Zoro's full surrender. Surely, he knew better than to bow so completely at an enemy's feet. Dismissal had been the first and only thought to enter Mihawk's mind as the younger swordsman bowed and begged for teaching, and anger, joined by annoyance aimed at both himself and Zoro, had threatened to cross the shichibukai's face.

Victory. Zoro had been claiming victory over the humandrills. Perhaps not a clean victory, though the young swordsman had never struck Mihawk as the type to admit to troubles. But there he had remained, on all fours at the shichibukai's feet and asking for a teacher. Apparently, Zoro's mind could be turned one-hundred and eighty degrees just by reading the morning paper.

Mihawk hadn't been able to resist asking: he had to know what wild hare had found its way up Zoro's ass.

A response had come, less in the form of words and more in the form of a crushing aura that radiated from the young swordsman. That singly determined stare had pinned the shichibukai, both freezing the blood in his veins and making his muscles burn with adrenaline. It was a challenge Mihawk hadn't seen in a long time, and he highly doubted he'd get another chance at it in his life. An excited laugh had burst from his lips and the shichibukai had curled a little in his chair before he could recover himself.

That stare hadn't been issued by a single person. A whole clan of people, of monsters that wielded the hearts of men, had demanded Mihawk's knowledge of the sword. He could resist humans, but not such awing creatures. With his compliance confirmed, the shichibukai experienced the transformation of the demon at his feet into some glorious angel. The glowing joy and excitement that emanated from the young swordsman's face made something in the bottom of Mihawk's stomach drop, though he was still able to demand Perona aid Zoro.

As the two exited, the shichibukai felt an odd sense of conflict. For the most part, he was glad to have some semblance of the solitude and peace he was supposed to have on his island. However, a small part, the part that had dropped through the pit of his stomach, constricted in an abandoned way.

Mihawk decided to ignore the weak clench of loneliness and lifted his wine glass, staring into the garnet liquid for a second before downing part of it. The wine had a strong, bitter taste that belied a sweet undercurrent and lingering aftertaste.

If the shichibukai were to truly have his way, he had just signed his own suicide note.

A twitch nudged the right corner of Mihawk's mouth up, and an almost inaudible puff of air escaped through his nose: his version of a grin and a chuckle. Being a shichibukai these days seemed like asking for ruin, really. Those two determined boys had not only attracted more of their kind, but they had all grown strong enough in such a short amount of time to take out some of the lesser pirate gods. Few pirate crews had that going for them, and even fewer rookies from the East Blue. He had to admit, however, that he would rather be killed by Zoro than anyone else.

Again, Mihawk stared into the small amount of wine left in his glass. He tilted the glass in tiny circles, causing the liquid to undulate and glimmer like a gem. For a moment, the shichibukai thought about nothing as he simply watched, engrossed by the dancing light. He could hear nothing from the hall, a subconscious knowledge that told him peace had returned, despite how short that peace would be.

The wine was gone in a flash of light and a bitter pang, and Mihawk rose without a sound. With the half-full bottle in one hand and empty glass in the other, the swordsman rose, leaving the room silently and heading towards the kitchens below.

The wine glass found itself quickly deposited in the sink to be washed later that evening, and the bottle was set on the counter to be polished off with dinner. Within minutes, the shichibukai had the stove on and food in the pan, sizzling quietly as he tended it like a hen would her chicks. He worked diligently, using the same slight-yet-deft movements he would employ with a blade. By the time Mihawk was nearly finished, Perona had appeared, floating down through the ceiling to watch the preparations.

"Where is Roronora?" the swordsman asked, not bothering to look up. A huff came from the spectral girl, the kind of reply that told of an angry face and hands on hips.

"What are you cooking for me?" she asked, dipping her face dangerously close to the stove before looking up at the shichibukai. Mihawk ignored Perona despite being unable to see around her, using the periphery of the pan he was cooking in. The spirit girl's scowl deepened, but her anger was for naught.

"You've treated him, yes?" With nimble fingers, the swordsman had plucked a plate from a nearby cabinet, flicked off the stove's burner, and was transferring the food to his plate. Perona's eyes followed him, and she stared at the meal longingly for a second before noticing something.

"Hey, where's my plate?" demanded the princess, darting around Mihawk to float in his way. She bristled angrily, like a cat that had just had its tail stepped on. The shickibukai cocked an eyebrow and simply passed through her and ascended the stairs.

"What is Roronora doing right now?" Mihawk asked as he made his way upwards without a backwards glance. Perona followed him, folding her arms and glaring in another direction while he settled down to eat.

"Sleeping. So uncute, too, sprawled all over the place," the spirit girl pouted. The shichibukai said nothing in response, and he cut into the small slab of meat he had cooked for himself. For several minutes, Perona avidly stared out the window, studying the bleak landscape in silence as the occasional _tink_ of china being scrapped gingerly tapped the air.

About halfway through Mihawk's meal, the spectral girl caught herself snatching glances of the man as he ate. Each time she did she would ferociously tear her eyes from the food, telling herself she wouldn't beg. The princess found it increasingly difficult, however, to ignore the food on the table and the knowledge that her stomach—no matter how detached she was from it—was empty. The shichibukai seemed to realize at some point—Perona wasn't quite sure when—what was going on in his audience's mind and he slowed to an agonizing crawl, obviously enjoying everything he ate in silence. Finally, the swordsman rose, his plate clean.

"You know," the girl said curtly, "It's rude for a gentleman to eat in front of a lady without offering anything."

A twitch at the corner of Mihawk's mouth went unnoticed as he said, "I've never met any ladies that come uninvited into a man's home and demand he cook her dinner." The swordsman turned and headed back down the stairs to the kitchen, Perona right behind him and scowling at the back of his head the entire way.

The pan used to cook dinner found itself being washed alongside the dishes used to eat the meal it had prepared. While Mihawk diligently cleaned the dishes, the spectral girl floated about the kitchen, inspecting everything with the mild disinterest of one waiting in boredom. Each dish, from pan to utensil, was scrubbed meticulously, until the swordsman was positive each particle of food had succumbed to friction. They were then dried and placed back into respective drawers and cabinets.

Once the final fork was settled and its drawer slid closed, Perona opened her mouth to speak, but was preempted by Mihawk. "If you want food here," he said, fixing her with a golden-eyed stare, "You will cook it for yourself. You are less of a guest here than Roronora, and even he is nearly an unwelcome surprise. I will not stop you from using ingredients from my stores, though my wine is off limits." As if to emphasize his point, the swordsman plucked the glass and bottle from the counter where they had been sitting since before dinner. He then headed back up the stairs and resettled himself in his chair. The spectral girl watched him in silence, but nothing more was said as Mihawk finished his wine and washed his glass before retiring for the evening.

Perona scowled one final time before returning to her hungry body that she was too tired to feed. The princess found a room for herself that wasn't far from the one Zoro rested in and was slightly less dingy. As she fell asleep, she fretted feebly over what had happened to Moriah.

* * *

Morning came a little too abruptly to Zoro, who woke stiff and sore. The young swordsman slung one foot over the side of the bed and set it on the cold stone floor before shoving his blanket aside and having the other foot join its sibling. As he sat, Zoro groggily rubbed at a kink in his neck and shoulder. Slowly, the world around the pirate came into focus until he could even recall what had happened the day before.

In a rush of energy, the young swordsman snatched up his clothes, grabbed his swords, and was out the door and down the hall before he even gave himself a minute to doubt his way. The halls were linear for the most part, with intersections every so often. Zoro vaguely remembered that there were no turns between his room and the dining room where Mihawk was most likely to be found, but by the time he had come across two large doors that led nowhere but a relatively small courtyard, the Straw Hat pirate was sure he'd gone the wrong direction.

With the same vigor that had carried him towards the courtyard, Zoro headed back to where his room was and passed it, arriving in a large commons area. The swordsman scowled, turning several times to get a good look at all the exits. There were seven total, including the one he had just emerged from. Just as the pirate was about to venture down one hall, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A single ghost, one of Perona's, lingered at the mouth of one of the halls and watched him.

"What?" he asked it, a hint of annoyance in his voice. The specter said nothing, but it turned and headed down the hallway. Zoro went after it, but it had vanished. With furled eyebrows, the swordsman continued on the same path, unfamiliar with the territory until he came to the doors to the dining hall. One hand pushed the door aside and the pirate entered, automatically catching sight of the person he was looking for.

Settled comfortably in his chair was Mihawk, the paper spread wide in his hands. A glass of wine was perched on the table next to him, new bottle along side it. The shichibukai didn't bother to divert his gaze from the paper as his new pupil entered the room, and instead inspected it with a little more interest.

"I'm ready to begin," Zoro stated plainly, standing little more than five feet away from his teacher. Mihawk gave him a glance. The younger swordsman's face showed a singular determination blended with eagerness.

"I'll teach you nothing until you can walk without limping," was the shichibukai's blunt reply. A puzzled look came over Zoro's face, and he glanced down at his legs.

"I wasn't limping," he said finally. Mihawk cocked a disbelieving eyebrow, but said nothing and returned his gaze to his paper.

Perona came stomping up the stairs, cutting short any other possible objections Zoro might have made. Her face was flushed and twisted in anger, and in her hands she clutched two plates. The younger swordsman watched her with confusion and mild interest while the elder ignored her completely as she strode towards the long dining table and set each plate before a chair. With folded arms, the girl stared impatiently at Zoro.

After a few silent, uneasy seconds, Perona snapped, "Well?"

"What?" the younger swordsman asked, genuinely confused.

"Aren't you going to pull back my chair for me?" the girl demanded, "I made you breakfast, didn't I?"

Zoro looked at the food, charred beyond recognition and with an odd smell somewhere between a burnt body and a marsh. He said nothing, however, as he stepped around the table and pulled back one of the chairs. Perona sat herself down and Zoro pushed the chair in. Just before the young swordsman settled before his food, however, the princess stopped him.

"There's no silverware."

The Straw Hat pirate stood for a second, unsure about what the girl was hinting at. Perona gave an exasperated sigh.

"Get some?" she asked, annoyance clear in her voice and on her face. Zoro narrowed his eyes at her, but stepped back from the chair and looked around the room. Another angry sigh was issued by the princess and she pointed to the doorway leading to the kitchens below.

"Down the stairs, in the kitchen," the girl said, "On your right, close to the entrance."

With an annoyed look plastered to his face, Zoro followed the directions and returned within ten minutes, utensils in hand. Only after Perona had been handed a fork and knife did the swordsman seat himself. The two of them sat, side by side, each staring at the plate before them.

Mihawk looked up from the paper briefly before setting it aside and emptying his glass. Once he was safely downstairs and busied with the dishes, Perona glanced at Zoro.

"Aren't you going to eat the food I made?" she demanded. The swordsman gave the food another look and was almost regretful that Luffy wasn't there to steal from his plate. After a second under the critical eye of the princess, Zoro's face turned to a resigned expression of 'fuck it', and he dug in. One bite of the charcoal was more than enough to make the Straw Hat swordsman appreciate his usual cook.

"What is this?" Zoro managed to ask between bites as he choked them down. A smile came to the princess's face as she explained.

"It's eggs and pancakes," she said brightly, her breakfast untouched.

The swordsman could say nothing through the food in his mouth, but he looked down in disbelief at his plate. Perona looked at him expectantly, causing Zoro to delay swallowing for a second. Once the disgusting morsel was down, the princess was quick with her question.

"Well?"

The swordsman thought for a second before answering.

"Try some before you ask me."

Perona gave her plate a look of worry and disgust, and Zoro grinned a little as she took a tentative bite. Her face contorted in revulsion, and as she gagged down the food Mihawk mounted the stairs.

The younger swordsman was up in a heartbeat, moving between his teacher and the exit so that he had the shichibukai's undivided attention.

"You won't teach me?" Zoro demanded.

"I will when you are ready," replied the elder swordsman, easily stepping around his student and heading towards the door. The young swordsman followed.

"I am ready."

"There is still a stagger in your step."

"I don't hear it," Zoro replied as Mihawk opened the door. The two men left the dining room—and Perona—behind.

"You don't hear it because you choose not to listen," the shichibukai replied once the doors had closed behind him, "If you don't listen to the complaints of your own body, you may as well slit your throat."

"That didn't stop you when you met me," the young pirate replied.

Mihawk stopped abruptly, and he quickly turned on his student. Despite having kept his face level until that point, his eye twitched in annoyance.

"You chose to be deaf then just as you are choosing to be deaf now," the shichibukai said curtly, "In this art, the deaf are weak. The weak die. If you are just here to die and waste my time, you can leave now."

The older man then swept off down the hall, disappearing quickly into another corridor. His student didn't bother to follow; instead, he turned on his heel and returned to the dining hall.

Perona was just on the other side of the doors, poised to rip the head off of the first man who walked through the door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she screeched, her face livid. Zoro's hands flew instinctively to his swords, but he managed to relax them before the princess noticed. The swordsman's face grew dark in annoyance.

"I could ask the same thing," he grumbled, "What's with screaming in my ear?"

The girl stepped aside and pointed accusingly at the table. "You left," she snapped, "You left without even bothering to clear your plate. And why? To go bug someone who isn't interested in you right now."

Zoro turned, planning on leaving the banshee to scream without him when the swordsman found himself face-to-face with one of her ghosts. The Straw Hat pirate froze, unwilling to even try passing through the thing. He turned back around, mumbling angrily all the way back to the table and through the rest of his repulsive breakfast. Perona watched him while he ate, forcing him—with much sullen protest from the swordsman—to wash and put away his own plate and utensils once he was finished.

Finally, Zoro found himself free to his own devices. He wandered the castle freely, only occasionally hindered by one of Perona's ghosts. There were portraits lining the walls, and the swordsman wondered silently if Robin could have possibly named all the people and events depicted. She likely could, the way he figured.

After coming to and ascending the large, main staircase, the young pirate found himself sifting through room after room that seemed to hold no purpose besides entertaining guests. Zoro moved silently, disturbing the air with even the lightest breath as dust stirred from its slumber under his feet. Spiders stared at the intruder as he passed through their lands, though none of them were eager to demand his departure. Muffled light seeped through opaque curtains, highlighting the dilapidated furniture.

At the end of the gauntlet of rooms was an ornate set of heavy, wooden doors. The swordsman passed through them wordlessly, he a ghost traversing the castle's corpse. In the room beyond, there were two floors connected by a spiral staircase. Walls of light were built between curtains, slicing across floors, chairs, and bookshelves. Zoro descended to the lower floor, uninterested in the books that filled the room. A second set of doors greeted the young pirate and he opened them to come face-to-face with Perona.

"Lunch," she said curtly, hovering a foot or so off the ground. The young swordsman gave her a wary look, already dreading what he would find in the dining room, but he followed the spectral girl back, and choked down another charred meal. After that highly unpleasant experience, Zoro wandered in another direction until he returned to the courtyard he had stumbled upon that morning.

It was secluded, surrounded on three sides by the castle. Vines crisscrossed the crumbling path underfoot, and large plants grew rampant, creating a mottled pattern across the swordsman's body. The distant call of the humandrills could occasionally be heard across the still air, the only sound that could find Zoro in his seclusion.

A stagnant pond laid lazily among the plants, hidden so well that the young pirate nearly tromped right through it. As it was, Zoro settled down next to the pool and fell asleep in less than five minutes.

The rolling roar of thunder managed to bring the young pirate back to the land of the living. All of the world was dark, and the air smelled of rain. Once he had gathered his weapons, the young swordsman strode away from the pond to the growing sound of a million hammers on the leaves. The pathetic path that had been difficult to see was all but indiscernible now, and the castle was invisible among the foliage.

Zoro was soaked through before he saw it: a burning phoenix rising out of the ashes of night and searing a path in the dark. The swordsman's face lit up at the light and his pace quickened, his boots slipping a little with squeaks in complaint. Before he knew it, rain no longer beat upon his back, and the rumble of thunder was muffled by stone. The cool hall made a chill flash through the young pirate to match the lightning outside, and he shook violently with the thunder.

Though Zoro's stomach threatened to eat itself from hunger, he found himself wearily stumbling into his own room. With a weak clank, the triad of swords were laid down beside their master's bed. The swordsman then flopped onto his stomach with a small grunt, the bed creaking complaints at him when he did.

Something slapped into the back of Zoro's head, the impact softened by both the weakness of the throw and the cushioned item tossed.

"How uncute," Perona's disdainful tone came through the towel over the swordsman's head, "You could at least dry yourself off."

Zoro rose slowly, sitting up and rubbing the towel vigorously in his short, green hair. When he was done with his hair, the swordsman peeled off his shirt.

"Hey," the princess complained, "I don't need to see that."

The Straw Hat pirate looked at her like she had appeared out of thin air.

"You're still here?"

Perona gave him an indignant glare and turned on her heel with a small huff, disappearing down the hall. Zoro watched her leave before resuming his work with the towel, drying himself. The swordsman stripped down to his underwear, hanging the rest of his clothes over the back of the chair to dry while he slept.

Finally, the young pirate fell asleep, sprawled over his tiny bed.

* * *

Quiet footsteps echoed down the hall, and a shadow appeared in the doorway to Zoro's room. Mihawk surveyed his student with mild interest, his sharp eyes barely impeded by the minimal light. The younger pirate's face was relaxed, a rare sight that caught the shichibukai off guard. Silently, the elder swordsman took a single step inside, his golden eyes taking in every tiny detail of Zoro's sleeping form.

The thing in the pit of Mihawk's stomach stirred, trying to pull him forward. For a single step the shichibukai obeyed before he again stood and simply observed. The pull tugged once more, like an eager dog, but the elder swordsman ignored it. Instead, teacher watched his student's respiration, and his own breathing subconsciously aligned with it. Mihawk took a step to the side, and as he started to turn and leave, a light glimmered, catching the eye of the older swordsman.

Zoro's earrings shimmered, drawing the shichibukai's eyes back to his student's clear face. The pit of the older man's stomach lurched fiercely, giving Mihawk no choice but to go to the young swordsman's bedside. As he stood there gazing at his student, the shichibukai had the growing awareness of wanting something, but he wasn't sure what. The more he lingered, the more he realized he wanted—needed—something, some action, from Zoro, but what that action was remained stubbornly outside of the older swordsman's conscious thought.

One of Mihawk's hands had found its way away from its master's side and hovered close enough to the younger man's skull that he could feel the heat radiating from it. The pull demanded more, and the shichibukai's fingertips rested gently in Zoro's damp hair. The younger man didn't even twitch, his face still blank in sleep. Entranced, the older swordsman allowed his palm to join his fingers, warmth enticing him closer. Slowly, Mihawk lowered himself to one knee, then two, so that he looked right into his student's sleeping face.

The pull was relentless, feverishly demanding the shichibukai do more. Every muscle could be felt inching as the elder swordsman's neck stretched forward, closing the gap between his and Zoro's faces. Intoxicating heat radiated from the younger pirate, encouraging Mihawk closer with vague whispers.

A gentle, metallic _ting_ caused the shichibukai to freeze little more than half an inch away from his student's mouth. The elder swordsman withdrew, glancing down to see that Kogatana had made the complaint from around his neck. Mihawk looked back to his hand that still rested among emerald hair like it belonged to someone else, before letting his eyes settle again on Zoro's calm face.

Silently, but as swiftly as he could, the shichibukai rose and removed his hand from the Straw Hat pirate's head. With a quick turn on his heel, the swordsman was out of the room and retiring to his own quarters, the warmth a fond memory in his palm.

When Mihawk woke in the morning, he was vaguely aware that he had had an extremely pleasant dream after returning from Zoro's room, but any tidbits of his dream that may have lingered were snapped up by conscious thought. The shichibukai rose from his bed, an elaborate four-poster with crimson coverings, and dressed himself swiftly before heading out and down the hall.

Within ten minutes of his arrival in the kitchen, Mihawk had eggs in the pan and was fetching some of his remaining fruit from the fridge. He worked diligently, keeping a keen eye on everything he had cooking.

As he reached for a plate, he caught sight of a figure in his peripheral vision. He turned to see one of Perona's ghosts, and he only gave it a fleeting thought as he returned to his breakfast preparations. Each piece of food was placed precisely and deliberately, and once the shichibukai had plucked his recent selection of wine off the rack, he headed up the stairs to eat his meal.

The dining room was dim, lit only from within. The meager lights glimmered dully off of the swordsman's wine, and he ate to the sound of rain on the windows. Rarely, a flash would light up the world, and the rolling gunshot of thunder would break the monotony of the rain's drumming.

At some point before Mihawk had finished his food, Perona entered the dining room on her way to the kitchen below. The shichibukai ignored her, despite her mildly friendly greeting. The girl had left him with a _hmph_ of indignation, and even as he went downstairs to wash his plate he ignored the minimal conversation she tried to make. The swordsman didn't really hate her, but he had never gotten along with Moriah, and annoying her even a fraction as much as she annoyed him was somehow deeply satisfying.

Just as Mihawk had settled down with his final glass of wine after his meal, the doors opened to reveal Zoro. The young pirate strode in confidently, but with the slightest stagger in his step. Before the student could even open his mouth, his teacher cut him short.

"No."

Zoro's eyebrows furled, but he said nothing and wandered towards the kitchen. The shichibukai took his time with his drink, more so than he normally would have, and managed linger until well into Perona and Zoro's meal. Mihawk left unhindered this time, and strode silently to the library.

The shichibukai entered the literary sanctuary, heading straight for a small desk tucked in the corner of the lower floor. It was beautifully carved and had a small stack of books upon it, one of which the swordsman snatched and flicked deftly open to a small place holder he had left the previous day.

Silence prevailed in the dim library as the hours lumbered by, each watching as Mihawk sat engrossed by the story in his hands. Only when the shichibukai's stomach felt as though it were going to eat itself for sustenance did he rise and return to the kitchen to make himself dinner. He ate slowly, watching as the younger residents of his castle entered, ate, and left before he was finished with his glass of wine.

Mihawk slowly polished off his wine in contemplative silence, thinking over his actions of the previous evening between miniscule sips. The swordsman could think of no reasons for his actions, nor could he come up with any way of finding reasons. He lifted the hand that had rested on Zoro's scalp to his face, inspecting the intricate valleys in the skin. After a moment, the shichibukai used the hand and picked up his glass, finishing his wine in a single swallow. Then he rose, heading swiftly down the stairs and quickly replacing the bottle in the rack. After a flash wash, the glass was replaced and Mihawk was out the door.

Though less quiet than he had been the night before, the swordsman still made very little sound as he moved. Shadowed portraits flew by as the shichibukai strode onwards, the man making a bee line for his answers. The door came up on his left quickly, and teacher anchored himself to the door frame of his student's room and swung around it through the already opened door.

Once again, Zoro was slung like a sloth over his bed, with a couple of his limbs hanging over the sides. The pull was awake instantly, tugging insistently forward. Mihawk needed little encouragement and he stepped forward silently, stopping beside the young pirate's hand that rested lightly on the floor. The shichibukai did nothing but stare, his eyes wandering over his fully-clothed student as the younger man slept.

In the pit of his stomach, Mihawk felt the pull threatening to drag him onto the bed, but he resisted. Instead, the elder swordsman lowered himself to his knees and peered into Zoro's face, the countenance as clear as it had been the night before. Like a magnet, the shichibukai felt his face being pulled closer to that of the young swordsman.

Waking lips brushed tentatively against sleeping ones, and the owner of the former jerked his head back as though he had just been stung. For a moment, there was only the movement of respiration, and a million jumbled thoughts crowded into the elder swordsman's mind so quickly he thought of nothing at all. Unknowingly, the teacher gingerly placed his student's dangling arm up on the bed before he rose and strode silently out of the room.

More pleasant dreams awaited Mihawk, only to be forgotten in the morning like a one night stand. The fact that these dreams drifted away like clouds over the ocean was annoying, more so because they felt important. The need to remember those dreams blurred all other activities, making dressing, travel, and breakfast all blend together into simple routine.

One thought broke through the fog of necessity, however: Zoro hadn't been at breakfast. It had made the thing in the pit of his stomach clench unpleasantly, but the feeling was not so strong that the shichibukai could not keep it off of his face.

Mihawk sat at his desk in the library, staring at a single line for going on forty-five minutes. The sound of steady footsteps broke the swordsman out of his trance, and he scanned the room for the source of the noise. He caught his student's gaze, and the younger man came eagerly down the stairs, the swords at his side clanking together in annoyance.

As Zoro stood before him, Mihawk felt the pull in his stomach stir a little.

"I heard it."

"You should have been able to hear it all along," the shichibukai replied, "It doesn't matter if you can hear it."

"It's gone though," was the student's response, "I'm ready."

Mihawk cocked an eyebrow.

"Show me."

The younger swordsman walked a quick circle around the desk, his footsteps even and smooth. With a defiant look in his eyes, the young pirate grabbed the elder's gaze and held it firmly. A small smile came to the teacher's face.

"Go eat," Mihawk said, "We start after lunch."

Again, the angelic flash crossed Zoro's countenance, and the thing in Mihawk's stomach woke and leapt up into his chest, slamming against his heart and ribs.

The shichibukai let nothing show on his face beyond mild approval as his student eagerly departed for what was likely to be a terrible lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, slow coming out, and yeah, not a lot happens. Not much is supposed to happen, yet. If characters are OOC, I apologize, especially when it comes to Perona, since I'm still not quite used to her. As for when to expect new chapters, I hate to say that I'm not sure. While I try to at least type a page of anything each day, that will be a far more lofty goal with my current homework load. Releases of chapters are going to be sporadic, I'm afraid, and I'm striving for quality over speed.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the chapters to come.
> 
> As I am,
> 
> Lady Spritzy


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Zoro quickly learned that excitement is a powerful factor of obliteration. Not only had he managed to choke down a horrible—though slightly more tolerable—meal prepared by Perona, but he had also found his way back to the castle's main entrance with little trouble. Mihawk had walked with him back to the dining room and lingered just long enough to demand the princess's presence for Zoro's training. Despite her objections, Perona had agreed, and the younger two residents found themselves waiting for the eldest just outside the monstrous castle doors.

The early afternoon sun leaked through the dreary overcast, a welcome sight to the young swordsman. He sat cross-legged, his back against cool stone and his face upturned to warm sun. Across his lap sat his three swords, each scabbard and hand-guard catching and tossing the sunlight. A stiff breeze puffed across the yard, barely shifting the hairs on the man's head or the fabric of his pants.

Perona was floating about, inspecting the yard with growing disdain. Ancient stones, though well built and placed, were worn smooth around the edges and would crumble under too rough a touch. Grasses and weeds forced their way through bricks and masonry, eroding the paths and walls from the inside out. The princess glided over to where Zoro sat, a complaint ready on her tongue when she noticed something about him.

"Why are you half naked?"

The young swordsman cracked an eye open, looking at Perona with mild confusion.

"When did you get here?"

The girl scowled.

"I've been out here longer than you have," she replied angrily, getting right up in his face.

Zoro was about to retort when one of the princess's ghosts sidled up beside her threateningly. Instead, the swordsman's face took on a look of annoyed indignation as he replied, "I always train like this."

Perona backed up slightly, with something like disgust on her face. "How uncute," she pouted, "You could at least be decent in front of a lady."

Zoro's faced morphed, confusion taking the place of indignation. "It's not like I'm completely naked."

A hollow thud resonated in the air, becoming a low hum that lingered in stone and bone. Mihawk stood just before the doors, his face obscured in the shade of his hat. Once the sound had faded, the shichibukai stepped forward silently, striding across the yard with his crimson coat rippling subtly around him.

Teacher towered above student, with the younger man deftly holding the gaze of the elder as he rose. Though Zoro said nothing, he asked his most burning question with eager eyes. The shichibukai scanned the younger man's face, looking for nothing in particular but still managing to find himself growing mildly impatient about something. Mihawk finally pulled his eyes from his student's face as he glanced at the young pirate's swords.

"You only need one of your weapons for now," he said. With an almost silent turn on his heel, Mihawk faced Perona, who floated several feet away. "I want you," the shichibukai commanded her, "To take one of Roronoa's blades."

Before the girl could object, Zoro spoke up.

"Why does she need it?"

The elder swordsman's eye twitched ever so slightly, but he replied while staring down the princess, "Because she will be helping you with this lesson."

Carefully, the student gave his weapons a twice-over before begrudgingly stepping forward. His annoyance could be heard in his gait, a kind of dull thud on the old stones, and as the young man held out Shusui, Perona gave him a disdainful look.

"I'm not taking that," she said shortly.

Zoro's annoyance was echoed on his face.

"Why not?"

The ghost girl's eyes flicked in Mihawk's direction long enough for the shichibukai to catch her gaze before she hastily returned it to the younger swordsman's face.

"I can't hold it," she snapped, her arms folding high across her chest. Zoro scowled and thrust the sword forward, but the girl didn't even flinch. His arm passed without difficulty right into her ribcage and was obscured by her form up to his elbow.

"-The hell?" Zoro gave his arm a mildly confused look. A weak recollection of something Usopp had mentioned a while back surfaced in his mind, the shadowy memory linking to the moment at hand by an old, rusted chain.

"Told you I can't hold it," Perona huffed, floating backwards a bit.

"Perhaps," Mihawk said, unmoving, "You should make it so that you can hold the weapon."

The girl's eyes widened slightly, and she was gone in a heartbeat, passing through the large double doors at a pace that would have knocked a solid being unconscious.

Neither of the remaining men spoke as Zoro slowly let his hand drop back to his side. The silence settled in the princess's wake, creating a wall more solid than any of those in the castle. Mihawk watched as his student quietly sat, the weak clank of metal on stone magnified by the silence. Like a beast in a cage, the pull would not settle, sharpening the elder swordsman's perception to frustrating levels. Each strand of green hair wavered invitingly in the miniscule breeze, and the sun glanced off of bronzed skin like a spear off armor. It was enough to make Mihawk tense, though he still couldn't quite figure as to why.

Zoro sat with his back to his teacher, a habit the shichibukai knew he was going to have to beat out of the boy. Mihawk took a single step forward, to begin that long process, but he stopped. His gut struggled, heaving at him, trying—but failing—to force the elder swordsman closer. Something wasn't quite settling right, making the stoic shichibukai uneasy enough that he froze in place. It was something about how the rare sunlight brought the sharp contrast of Zoro's muscles into focus. Or perhaps it was the easy, relaxed posture that the younger man had, one that radiated comfort and peace. Maybe it was the way the pirate's swords lay by their master's side, gleaming like the fangs of dogs in the sun.

Whatever it was, the feeling was enough to stop the shichibukai.

As Mihawk silently contemplated in the wavering air, his student sat. Though he was quiet, the small remnants of a smile flickered on the young pirate's face. Small tremors of excitement coursed through him, the same ones that always came whenever he took on a powerful opponent. Zoro could feel his mind carefully blanking, choosing which information would be necessary and putting the rest aside under lock and key for when it would be useful.

Moodily, the castle doors flung themselves away from Perona as she stomped back into the courtyard. Mihawk twitched in annoyance while his student scrambled to his feet eagerly. Despite the fact that she was solid, the princess seemed less substantial. She sulked towards Zoro and flung her hand out, scowling as she did so. His tiny smile flickered out of existence, and the swordsman thought a second before reluctantly handing white Wado Ichimonji to Perona and taking up Shusui for himself.

The two of them looked to Mihawk, who by then had silently positioned himself at the edge of the courtyard. For a moment the shichibukai was silent, surveying the two of them before explaining the lesson.

"You are to fight," he stated bluntly, subtly folding his arms under his coat.

Perona's eyebrow tentatively raised, and her mouth hung comically open. A small, confused noise flopped quietly out, and was overshadowed by the scrape of metal. Opposite her, Zoro settled the scabbard back on his hip and stood confidently with the blade loose in his hand.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Perona screeched at Mihawk, "What do you mean 'fight'? Why aren't you teaching him?"

The shichibukai felt his eye twitch, but he managed to control himself enough to speak levelly. "I am of no help for this lesson."

"What lesson? What is he learning from this?" the princess demanded, chucking the blade to the ground in a protesting clatter. Zoro practically dived for Ichimonji. Fuming, the girl stomped towards the castle and had nearly reached the doors when Mihawk's voice rumbled across the courtyard.

"Stop."

With a hand to the door Perona froze. Again, a tiny wind blew through, breezily ignoring the heavy atmosphere between the three pirates. The shichibukai's arms unfolded and hid among the folds of his coat before he took a single, heavy step forward. It was followed by several others until Mihawk was standing next to Zoro. The teacher said nothing as he held out his hand, and gingerly the younger swordsman handed him the weapon.

Perona simply stood, her hand reaching out for the door almost desperately. Silently, the shichibukai approached her and stopped an arm's length away. Nothing was said as he held out the white blade.

As slowly as possible the spectral girl turned, trying to avoid the pirate warlord's piercing stare for as long as she possibly could. Once her periphery caught the hint of gold she was pulled in, as hopeless as light being dragged into a black hole.

In her hand was the white sword before she knew it, and the retreating shift of crimson was depressingly unresponsive. Feebly, Perona returned to where she had been standing before Zoro. With shifty, pleading eyes she turned to Mihawk, but once she met his gaze, the princess limply drew the sword, uncertain of what to do with the scabbard. An awkward shuffle ensued while Perona tried to find a place for the item before Zoro snatched the scabbard from her and settled it on his own hip.

Again, the young swordsman took up a fighting stance, his feet spread wide and solid. Perona emulated him weakly, her limbs stiff. Another breeze crept by.

In a flash of light Zoro struck, and the bark of metal rolled across the courtyard. The force of the blow rattled through the spectral girl and she staggered. Once more the swordsman struck, but again he was denied and the swords screeched again. Perona retreated slowly, one wobbling step for each powerful strike, until her heels were scraping against the door.

Slick with sweat and muscles aching from tension, the princess could no longer handle the strain of her fear.

Before Zoro could land his next attack, his own blade reached out to nick his side. The swordsman leaped out of range before he could get hurt, quickly assessing the situation before taking another swing. Perona barely dodged, getting the bulk of her flesh out of the way but losing part of her dress to Shusui.

In a streak of translucent white one of the girl's ghosts shot out, connecting with Zoro's chest in a way that seemed solid. The swordsman staggered back as though he had been hit by a bullet and fell to his hands and knees before Perona's feet.

"I'm an insignificant bug," he lamented to the dirt.

Mihawk's eyebrows shot up and his arms unfolded slightly as he watched the one-eighty in his student's actions.

Shrilly, Perona cried out, "You ruined it!" The gash in her dress was emphasized by the way she held it. "You dick, you ruined it! Oh, this is so uncute," she whined, stamping her feet a little and dropping the sword.

The shichibukai couldn't help himself: he sighed at the farce unfolding before him. Mihawk approached in a swirl of red and towered over the younger pirates. Perona glared viciously at him while Zoro groaned something about being lowlier than the dirt he was slumped across.

"You may go," the elder swordsman addressed the spectral girl.

"But-"

"Go."

Perona sulked away, slamming the bulky doors behind her as best as she could.

Mihawk's attention returned to his sniveling student.

"Get up," the shichibukai demanded, his arms folding again.

Zoro didn't respond.

"Now, Roronoa."

The younger swordsman muttered something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Mihawk rumbled.

Slowly, Zoro looked up. His eyes pleaded as he said, "But I'm nothing."

Something clenched in the shichibukai's torso, though he wasn't sure what or where exactly. His arms unfolded without notice, and the overwhelming desire to reassure struck the older swordsman so solidly that his face twitched in sympathy. He almost knelt beside the younger pirate.

"Rise," Mihawk commanded, "You shouldn't be at me feet."

Confusion obliterated the ghost's influence over Zoro and he obeyed slowly, gathering his blades as he did so.

"What have you learned from this exercise?"

The student remained dumb as he avoided his teacher's gaze.

"What have you learned?"

Hesitantly, Zoro mumbled, "Nothing."

Inwardly, Mihawk sighed.

"I want you to go and meditate with your blades. We will try this again tomorrow."

The shichibukai opened the door and ushered the younger pirate inside before following. The quiet tap of boots echoed down the hall, uninterrupted by speech. As they came to the large hall where the major corridors split off, Zoro started silently down one of them.

"Roronoa," Mihawk said quietly, his voice reverberating off of the walls. The student stopped, but didn't turn. "I refuse to teach those without potential, Roronoa. Remember that."

The shichibukai disappeared down the hall, on his way towards the library.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity and a half, Zoro finally found his way back to his room. He sulked inside and plopped down on the bed, which squeaked in protest. His three swords jabbed him in the hip, and he fumbled them free. The weak light that came through the grimy window glimmered on the hand guard of Wado Ichimonji and caught the swordsman's eye.

Zoro hefted the sword up to his face and eyed it. He was still a bit baffled by Mihawk's words: the younger man's meditations have always been introspective. That was how meditation worked, and it couldn't be expanded to the world beyond—or could it?

Ichimonji found itself settled gently across its master's lap. The young swordsman crossed his legs, his boots grinding dirt into the blanket. Zoro's eyes closed, cutting off his most distracting sense and letting his mind wander.

Instantly, the scent of the castle came to the young swordsman's attention. The first thing that sprang into Zoro's mind was a cellar: a smothering, damp atmosphere like being trapped inside a bottle full of fog. The young pirate was surprised he forgot that this castle had such an enveloping air—it had stifled him when he first arrived.

In the thick atmosphere, Ichimonji's familiar weight on the swordsman's lap was comforting and still warm from being on its master's hip. Zoro's hand rested lightly on the sword's scabbard, feeling each smooth decoration along the metal.

Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked open and clicked shut. Footsteps approached, and vaguely the swordsman hoped they would pass by his room.

They didn't.

"You're going to fix this," Perona stated bluntly.

Zoro refused to open his eyes. Footsteps approached, and the girl's soft breathing could be heard inches from his face. The swordsman's countenance didn't even twitch.

"Hey," she insisted, "You're going to fix this, prick."

Again, Zoro refused to let his face move. In an eruption of sound, stinging pain blasted across the swordsman's face. His eyes snapped open and he glared up into Perona's face, which easily matched his anger and annoyance.

"Why do I have to fix it?" he growled.

"Because you ruined it to begin with," the princess snapped, showcasing the hole in her dress that raggedly displayed her stomach.

"You should have backed off faster," the swordsman mumbled, avoiding the fact that he couldn't sew a stitch.

"How was I supposed to know? I've never use a sword before stupid!" Perona screeched, her face livid. Zoro flinched a little at the noise and wondered vaguely at how close the girl was to unleashing her ghosts.

"Well, I'm not fixing something that wasn't my fault," he muttered before closing his eyes again and trying to get back to his meditation. Anger radiated off of the girl, and she tried several more times to prod Zoro back into the world, but he ignored her and clung fiercely to Ichimonji as he did so.

Finally, Perona sulked away.

The swordsman returned to his meditation in earnest, reflecting on each of his blades and his own past. He thought about his family, his old teacher and friends. Zoro's mind rested on Kuina.

When he thought about it, hers was the only sword that was still with him after casting off from home. It had lived through several shichibukai, revolutionaries, Devil Fruit users, Pasifistas, and his near-death on several occasions. In all likelihood, the blade would outlast him. Ichimonji had proven itself loyal and strong, through the most trying of times—it had even stood up to Mihawk with him and came away still in one piece.

It was like Kuina had never left.

Slowly, Zoro opened his eyes and stared at the blade. His mind went blank, and he simply absorbed information: the way the dull light glimmered weakly; the texture and weight of the sword; a shadow stretching in from the doorway.

Mihawk stood propped against the door jamb, watching his student with a masked face that was no longer hidden by his hat. Zoro could feel his face grow warm as he scrambled to his feet. Hastily, the younger pirate shoved his three swords into his haramaki.

"You haven't risen just because I'm here, I presume," the teacher mused. Zoro blinked.

"Why are you here?" the younger swordsman asked bluntly.

Mihawk gave his student a quick once-over before responding. "I simply came to see how your meditations were going. Have you learned anything about your swords?"

Zoro's confusion was clear.

"You haven't really given me shit for instruction," he pointed out.

"I told you to meditate."

The younger pirate snorted. Mihawk felt his eyes twitch, and he lazily rolled off of the door jamb, standing a full head taller than his student. Zoro looked defiantly up into his eyes, and the shichibukai could feel that thing in his stomach becoming restless.

"Do you even know what sex each blade is?" Mihawk managed to ask quietly. The younger pirate's stare wavered a bit.

"Why is that important?" he asked, the edge in his voice obvious.

The shichibukai frowned and his eyes narrowed. Slowly, his hand rose and he firmly drew Kogatana. He came in close, with his nose about three inches from Zoro's, and between the two of them he held the small blade.

"This is Kogatana. I believe the two of you have met?"

Again, the student's gaze wavered a bit, but he managed to not break eye contact.

"Yeah," Zoro grunted.

"He," the shichibukai motioned with the blade, "would be more than indignant if I were to call him a woman. Koga is too proud to be humiliated in such a fashion. Do you understand?"

Though he was a little unsteady on the point, the younger pirate nodded.

"All blades are like this, just like humans. If you aren't familiar with your swords, how can you expect them to fight alongside you?"

"So they're like any other ally?"

Mihawk nodded, a small smile lighting his face.

"Then why have me fight the ghost girl?" Zoro grumbled.

"That is another basic lesson you must learn as a swordsman."

Zoro raised an eyebrow in confusion. The only thing he had learned was to stay far from Perona's ghosts, and even that was only a refresher.

"I don't get it."

The shichibukai heaved a sigh somewhere in the back of his mind. "I'm afraid you've got to find the answer for yourself."

Mihawk turned and left silently down the hall, with Zoro unable to think of anything to stop him.

* * *

Five days later, Perona was really starting to get sick of the daily routine. Each morning, before the sky had shifted into its normal steely grey, Mihawk would rap on her door and wake her. She was beginning to doubt that the man even slept. Then he would rouse Zoro, who always seemed so frustratingly chipper in the morning. They would both be hustled through the halls of the castle and out the door without so much as a hack at the bathroom.

Then they would spar.

The ghost girl glared blearily at the shichibukai as he watched over them. Today, he decided to perch up on the wall, like some disapproving monarch.

Like the days before, Zoro was obviously too much of a match with the sword. And also like the days before, Perona found herself extremely hard-pressed to defend herself.

But unlike the days before, her ghosts weren't an option.

"Damn him for threatening me," the spectral girl muttered as she blocked another strike from Zoro and glared at Mihawk. The shichibukai stared impassively down as the younger pirates sparred. Perona could feel his gaze on her back as the younger swordsman fighting her forced her to turn just to avoid the steel of his blade.

This was going nowhere much too quickly.

Something had to be done, or the spectral girl would find herself disarmed with her back against the wall again; however, the dark implications of Mihawk's words from a few nights back were still fresh in her mind, and she was less than keen to try his patience.

Perona clumsily deflected another blow and shuffled awkwardly to the side, tripping a little on a rock as she did. Zoro was quick with another swipe to her thighs and she jumped back with a squeak. Again, something caught the princess's foot and she tripped, bringing her leg up in an undignified fashion as she fell. Her borrowed sword clattered away and she landed painfully on her elbows and ass.

It took the girl a good couple of second before she realized her shabby, poorly-mended dress had ridden up farther than a lady's dress should go.

"Get back!" she cried, lashing out with her most available foot. Perona pulled herself back hastily and stretched her dress firmly over her legs before shooting a poisonous look in Zoro's direction.

The young swordsman was having his own issues.

Only a few times in his life had he felt such immense pain, and now two of them had been witnessed by Mihawk. Shusui clanged to the ground beside him as he dropped to his knees, gagging fiercely. Somehow, he was pretty sure he pissed himself, but he wasn't quite sure if he'd find just urine or blood as well. It didn't matter though: all there was was agony.

A strong hand hefted Zoro to his feet, causing the young swordsman to accidentally chafe his scrotum in a way that sent another wave of pain crashing into him. He gagged again. Some one was making him walk—was dragging him—and he feebly thought of his dropped weapon. The haze of pain was too great, though, and quickly his thoughts were enveloped by throbbing agony in his groin.

Zoro smelt the atmosphere of the castle as he was hustled along, and felt himself being pulled this way and that around corners. Teacher and girl could be sensed to either side, but the swordsman couldn't really see them. Just like in so many of his most grueling battles, he was coherent but not necessarily part of the world. The haze became a gauzy curtain, and he couldn't pull it aside.

After a while the fog over his sensibility started to lift, and Zoro noticed candle light somewhere nearby. He groaned and sat up with a dull protest from his nether regions.

"Finally you wake up," snorted a female voice.

"The hell—?" the swordsman heard himself ask.

"I didn't even kick you that hard," Perona complained, "And Mihawk jumps on my ass like I'm the one that fucked up! Moriah wouldn't have pulled this shit on me." She turned and faced her pouting countenance to Zoro. "And the way you dropped—so uncute!"

"What shit?" he asked groggily. The haze was still obscuring what had screwed with him so badly.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she snorted.

"I would," the swordsman grunted, starting to remember what was the origin of his agony.

Perona sighed and turned her back again, muttering loudly enough so that the other pirate could hear, "First he tells me not to use my ghosts, then he tells me not to kick you! How's he expect me to defend myself? With that sword?"

"You've been doing pretty well with her, though," Zoro said. The princess whipped around and glared at him incredulously.

"Pretty well? That's an overstatement," she retorted.

"Better than you have been," the young pirate rectified.

Perona grunted spitefully.

Zoro gave up—if the bitch wasn't going to accept the compliment, then fuck her.

Something in the back of his head floated out of the haze: a memory from before his crew had crossed into the Grand Line.

It was an image of Luffy, hacking away at Aronlg with a pair of borrowed swords. It was more than obvious that he had no clue what to do with the weapons, and yet he still kept swinging. The captain had done it to prove a point—to show that he wasn't capable, and that a true swordsman was necessary in his crew.

Zoro's eyes snapped all the way open and his eyebrows shot up. Fiercely he kicked the blanket off of him—ignoring the jab of pain in his groin—and staggered out of the bed.

"Thanks," he called to Perona as he ripped out the door and down the hall.

* * *

Settled comfortably in his chair, Mihawk was polishing off the wine he had had with dinner. It was quiet, much more so than it had been for the rest of the week. Zoro was still under Perona's care—apparently she had hit her mark successfully.

The shichibukai shuddered slightly. He had heard that strike, and something about the pain in Zoro's face had made the pull flare up. Vaguely, the swordsman wondered if that had been because of the sympathetic pain any man would feel in that situation. That had to have been it.

After another second of contemplation, Mihawk knew that was a lie.

Eager—if staggered—footsteps came rushing down the hall. The shichibukai sighed.

As the door was flung open, he asked, "What have I told you about listening to your body?"

Zoro stopped short, skidding to a barefoot halt. His face was reminiscent to a dejected puppy's for an instant before flashing back into radiance.

"I've got it," he shouted excitedly, trotting over to Mihawk. The shichibukai cocked an eyebrow, but the tiniest hint of a smile curved his lips.

"So?"

"So you want me to fight someone without experience," he said.

The teacher considered the answer given.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" Zoro's face dropped in disappointment.

"Yes," Mihawk replied, "Why would I want you to fight someone with no experience?"

The younger swordsman's shoulders slumped and he said nothing.

"When you have that answer for me, come back," the shichibukai said, finishing his wine and rising. Again, he was able to leave without hindrance, and when he returned to the dining room a good ten minutes later, Mihawk found it deserted. He strode silently out, wandering the halls.

There was a small amount of levity in the atmosphere of the castle, one he hadn't felt during his entire stay. It seemed to make the shadows less oppressive, and the air just a little less weighty. The feeling was unsettling, and for some reason the shichibukai found himself wandering in the direction of his 'guests' rooms. He made sure to tread silently, and before long he found himself standing at the edge of the light pouring from Zoro's room. Inside, the young swordsman could be heard muttering to himself, puzzling out the answer to his teacher's question.

Perona popped out of her room, and instinctively the shichibukai ducked into one of the empty rooms before she noticed him. From where he hid in she shadows, Mihawk could easily hear her announcing dinner. Seconds later, the two younger pirates passed by his hiding place, with the princess dragging the swordsman behind her.

Once they had passed, the shichibukai slipped into Zoro's room. The candle still burned feebly in its brass holder, the bed was disheveled, and under the bed were the young swordsman's boots.

Out of curiosity, Mihawk hefted up one of them and eyed it. The soles were worn, but not smooth, and the black, leathery material was obviously well-traveled. The feet they belonged to weren't delicate and small, but they weren't brutish either. Even if the swordsman had never met the owner of the boots, he could have guessed at a mild, balanced man.

Mihawk chuckled—that sounded about right.

As he was about to set the boot down, he noticed something else lying on the bed: Roronoa's black bandana. The boot landed with a thump, and the shichibukai gingerly picked up the cloth. Tattered, old, and worn, the thing had definitely seen better days. It held the strong scent of salt, picked up from being dunked into the ocean countless times with its owner, but there was a lighter scent as well. Mihawk held it closer to his face, as though he were trying to filter out some poisonous air.

The bandana smelled like metal.

It was an alluring scent, one so familiar and calming to the swordsman that he lost track of time—the only thing he noticed was the light finally dying, and even that was a vague passing of thought. Only the sound of approaching footsteps snapped the shichibukai back to himself.

With a pang of protest from the pull, Mihawk cast the bandana aside and retreated from the room. Again, he ducked into an adjacent room as the two passed him by, they marked by the solitary candle Perona carried.

Once they were gone, and all sound from both of their rooms had ceased, the shichibukai stepped into the dark hall and poked his head into his apprentice's room. The younger swordsman was out like a light and sprawled on his back, shirtless, and snoring uproariously. A tiny snort of amusement escaped from his teacher.

Though the pull was awake and insistent, Mihawk stood his ground at the doorway. He did nothing but observe the rhythmic movements of Zoro's chest, the smallest twitching of his limbs and face, the shadows on his crotch—

The shichibukai caught himself and his golden eyes returned to the movements of the younger man's upper torso. What pitiful amounts of light—to Mihawk, it wasn't anywhere near enough—did manage to make it through the window illuminated Zoro's shirtless chest. His strong jaw was set into his neck by the line curving from behind his ear, making an arrow down with his clavicles. The line stretched down, between solid pectorals, sharp abdominal muscles, a black hole of a belly button—all leading down into—

Once more, the swordsman had to drag his eyes away from what the pull was demanding.

After a fierce snort, Zoro muttered something. Mihawk cocked an eyebrow, and, despite himself, he stepped forward. Though it looked like the sleeping man would continue—or perhaps even repeat himself—he didn't, and the shichibukai was left awkwardly standing beside his bed.

The pull would have none of that.

Quietly, Mihawk sat on the edge of the bed, still feeling annoyingly unsatisfied. His hand moved on its own, encouraged by the thing lurking in his stomach, and came to rest on Zoro's forehead. The sleeping swordsman snorted in reply, but didn't stir in earnest. The shichibukai felt himself moving, but he knew he had surrendered control; however, the sensation didn't bother him anywhere near as much as it should have. His hand slid silently down and cupped the side of his student's clear face. The three earrings that graced that ear cooled the elder swordsman's palm, and tinkled softly as the hand moved on. Fingers trailed down the back of Zoro's neck, pressed between flesh and bedclothes. Mihawk was entranced by the heat of his student's skin as his hand passed over the broad chest and mariner's abdomen.

The shichibukai's hand stopped at the edge the younger pirate's pants, the spell on the former finally broken. Through only the greatest force of will was Mihawk able to make himself rise and step away from the sleeping Roronoa. Without a backwards glance he was gone, returned to his own quarters as swiftly as he could.

Dreams haunted the shichibukai, a swirling mass of the pleasures denied in the waking world. They hung tantalizingly close—delicious fruit in front of a starving man—but were yanked cruelly away from as morning roused him. Bitterly, the swordsman woke.

Dressing and general daily preparations were a drab, routine blur as Mihawk's mind kept wandering back to shadowy remnants of the night before and standing at the fringe of beautiful and fleeting dreams. Reality taunted him with its normality, and as the shichibukai went to wake the others, the merciless solidity of the world began to sink in.

As Mihawk passed his student's room to rouse Perona, a hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder. The shichibukai nearly floored Zoro out of instinct for a brief second, but he managed to get himself back under control before his reflexes killed the younger swordsman.

"I know why," Zoro stated.

Mihawk cocked an eyebrow.

"You want me to notice the differences between a sword master and a novice," the student explained eagerly, "You need me to see the how much more skilled the master is."

The eyebrow dropped.

"It isn't the differences I'm worried about."

Zoro thought a moment.

"I don't understand."

"Then we can't continue." The shichibukai turned to continue down the hall and wake the ghost girl. Once he had reached her door, Zoro called to him.

"Wait. I've got it."

"What this time?" the teacher asked, his patience wearing thin.

"You're looking at how they're the same."

Mihawk turned from the door and propped himself against it, looking to Zoro.

"Like how they both attack and block."

The edge of the shichibukai's mouth twitched upward.

"What does attacking and blocking have to do with being a swordsman?"

The student's face imploded in confusion, and for a few silent moments, he thought.

"They keep the swordsman alive?"

"Not necessarily."

Again, Zoro thought for a long, silent while before his face glowed with realization.

"The sword. That's the key."

"It is why we are called swordsmen," Mihawk affirmed, "Though while anyone can pick up the blade, they will be the uneducated—the novice. The master, however, knows the blade and will treat it like any human partner."

"That's why you had me meditating with my swords?"

A smile, albeit a small one, grew on the shichibukai's face.

"I hope you'll be able to properly introduce me to them after breakfast?" he asked. Zoro nodded fervently and took a step forward. His teacher shook his head.

"Let her sleep. You return to bed as well."

"But—"

"No," the elder swordsman commanded, "You'll return to sleep—you will need it for your next lesson."

The young pirate's face brightened as he turned eagerly to return to his room. Within ten minutes he was sprawled, snoring, and undignified.

Mihawk watched over his sleeping student, fighting with the demons that demanded he make a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yesh, it has been a long time since the last chapter. And the depressing part is, I've had the first page or so of this written up for months now.
> 
> Several things have gotten in the way, and in no particular order they are: Blue Exorcist anime/manga (absolutely awesome- go watch/read); -Man; NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)-yeah, didn't get to finish that; school work, including several large English papers; Anime/Manga convention (unfortunately didn't get to go as Sebas-chan); Howl's Moving Castle (movie and book series); Assassin's Creed (relevant 'cause you know Mihawk is totally part of the order); and my own staggering laziness. Yay laziness.
> 
> It is out now, and I still feel like I've missed the mark with some of the character's personalities (Mihawk can be kinda fickle when talking to me, and I'm pretty sure Zoro just hates me), and to me this all feels a little forced/rushed.
> 
> But maybe that's just me.
> 
> Again, stuff is most likely to be sporadic, 'cause school comes first and all that, as well as trying to surmount my own godforsaken laziness. Again, yay laziness.
> 
> Ah, as a side note: I'd like to know how you (as readers) have come across this story, whether you found it on your own, through a group, or by word of mouth-mostly 'cause I'm just curious. It's fine if you don't.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter as well as the ones in the future,
> 
> As I am,
> 
> Lady Spritzy


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Where does your strength come from, Roronoa?"

Zoro looked up from his swords, his eyebrows askew in confusion.

Teacher and student were seated across from each other in the dining hall, with the former settled comfortably in his chair and the latter perched on the edge of his. Outside, the foreboding sky rumbled, and the breezy rasp of vegetation whispered into the castle. Inside its grate, a fire cackled, throwing light to the farthest reaches of the room.

"What d'you mean?"

Somewhere in the back of his head, Mihawk could feel a tiny fleck of disappointment nagging at him.

"Where do you, as a swordsman, draw your power from to overcome your enemies?"

Quietly, the student thought for a second, staring at his swords. The firelight reflected alluringly off of his earrings, catching and drawing in the eyes of his teacher. The shichibukai stared. Zoro's head snapped up and instinctively his teacher's eyes flicked away, but not before the younger pirate had briefly met his gaze. Silence hung awkwardly between them for an instant until the student eagerly presented his answer.

"A swordsman's power comes from himself, right? Him and his swords?"

Mihawk's eyebrows rose in surprise, and his lips moved in the ghost of a smile.

"You are correct on one aspect: Part of the swordsman's power comes from his blades. It is the same with any other trade: An artist is nothing without his brush or pen; the carpenter, without his hammer and saw; or the smith, without his forge."

The shichibukai leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, taking on the air of a panther. He held his student's gaze.

"But energy—power—does not come from thin air. Where do your swords draw their power from?"

Zoro's eyes unfocused in thought. The pull stirred lazily, like a cat pawing at an old toy it with which it has long since become bored. Despite the weakness of it, however, Mihawk found himself extremely bothered by it.

Discomfort never crossed his face though.

The student returned from his mental trip with an answer. "Is it from the metal?"

"No."

Again, Zoro wandered in thought. Golden eyes locked on him, studied and inspected him, with the man behind them becoming tense and impatient. The shichibukai couldn't put his finger on why he was so damn twitchy.

The younger swordsman offered another answer. "Does the power come from the environment?"

"No," Mihawk snapped. Zoro flinched, and avoided his teacher's gaze as he pawed for a different answer. The shichibukai could feel himself tensing in waves, his jaw clenching and unclenching, limbs flexing and relaxing, and the entire time a thousand needles were prickling under his skin. He wanted to claw something to shreds.

"Does it come from the forge?"

Mihawk blinked. "Pardon?"

Wary confusion was spread across Zoro's countenance as he reiterated, "The forge, where the sword was made."

The shichibukai thought a moment, with only half of his mind on his student's answer. He nearly told the younger man he was wrong before checking himself. "You're close."

The radiance from Zoro's face was blinding to his teacher. Again, the young swordsman thought, unknowingly nibbling on his lower lip as he did so. Mihawk wondered vaguely at the kinds of things Zoro placed in his mouth—

"—the smith?"

"Yes," the teacher heard himself replying. "Blades earn their strength from the skill of the artisan that crafted them. The material they're made of is important, but if a sword is made by a poor smith, then it will be weaker than a better-made weapon."

"And I'd be weaker for it?"

"Yes."

Silence descended as both of them thought, with the weak pattering of rain on the window seeming to radiate from a completely different world. Mihawk tried to keep his gaze on anything that wasn't his student, but he kept catching himself stealing glances of the younger man like a child playing hide-and-seek. The fire was burning lower in its grate, and the shichibukai finally found himself content to watch it flicker there. The way it danced was entrancing, lulling the swordsman farther and farther away from the disturbance that graced his home.

"Is there anything else?" Zoro's voice prodded at Mihawk's ears. The shichibukai kept his gaze on the flames, like a dreamer trying to linger in his slumber.

"There is one more place a swordsman's power comes from. It is not the warrior himself, it is not his opponent, nor is it where he fights, or when, or even how. This one place is where any fighter draws their power from, and it is the greatest source of power." Slowly, the teacher detached his gaze from the consuming fire and brought his eyes to rest on his student's face. Their eyes met.

Time seemed to halt and watch them, just as intently as they watched each other. Neither one moved, though the twitching under Mihawk's skin seemed relentless. Outside, the rain rumbled, assaulting the castle with brute force, and thunder roared across the sky. The wind screeched, and the trees rasped fiercely. Something scraped across the window. The fire hissed in its grate, indignant at being pelted by stray drops of rain.

"It comes from need, doesn't it?" Zoro asked quietly.

"Yes it does."

The student nodded and thought quietly on the matter. Mihawk rose.

"I want you to reflect on your power sources as both a swordsman and a warrior. In the morning, you will tell me what you know about how each affects you personally. Do you understand?"

Zoro nodded again.

The shichibukai swept away, leaving the hall with the resounding thud of the heavy, wooden door. He passed the candles hanging there without a second thought, heading into the darkness. Beyond the light, the heavy atmosphere of the castle greeted him, surrounding the swordsman completely. It swirled in his wake, trying to both make way before the shichibukai and fill in the hole behind him. Absently, Mihawk put out a hand, running his fingers over the cold, brick wall as he walked and continuing long after his fingers became numb to the sensation.

After a while, the swordsman started counting his steps—something he did occasionally while pacing the castle. It was over three hundred steps before he swung left around a corridor. Seventy-nine steps later he swung right, and after five hundred and sixty three more steps he reached the library doors.

With a slight, whiny complaint, the door opened under Mihawk's hand. He stepped inside silently and closed the door behind him. In the blinding darkness, the shichibukai found a small table squatting near the doors. From the drawer on its side he withdrew a tiny pack of matches, one of which he struck to life. The tiny flame hissed but was more than willing to light the wick he set it to. With a flick of his hand, the shichibukai extinguished the match and discarded its wooden carcass into the ongoing fire of the candle.

Gently, though swiftly, Mihawk lifted the candle-holder aloft, with it unsteadily lighting a path among books and desks. The shichibukai followed the path with his mind filling in the dark spots. His desk squatted in its corner, hiding under its camouflage of books. Once he was settled in his chair, the swordsman nestled the candle in a small alcove in the wall beside him. The tiny puddle of light barely covered the desk.

Mihawk retrieved one of the books—a battered history text—from among its companions, and opened to his scruffy place marker. He read for about an inch of the candle, learning about the monarchy that had once occupied the place he now sat, and wading through a long line of begats. After a particularly brutal description of murder suicide, the shichibukai noticed something.

A man with green hair and gold earrings was bothering his consciousness and distracting him.

Through a conscious effort, Mihawk managed to push the image of his student out of his mind as he picked up another book. It was a literary classic of the area, about a monster that lured humans into its lair and drank the blood of the living. Slowly he worked through it, nodding between the book, a dictionary, and his feathery, hand-written translation. It was tedious, mind-consuming work.

White shirt, green haramaki, and black trousers tucked into dark boots.

With an annoyed huff, the shichibukai dug deeper into the work, latching onto the various verbs, nouns, adjectives, participles, clauses, punctuation, and predicates in the piece. He focused on each word individually, taking meticulous care to put each into his own language while preserving as much as he could of the original author's words.

A black bandana fluttered within the scope of Mihawk's thought.

The book barked harshly as the swordsman closed it. He shoved it aside, leaving the novel to balance on the edge of the desk. Atop it he stacked the dictionary and his notebook. From the pile he snatched another worn tome, this one trumpeting in faded, golden text across the cover that it was an anatomy book. The shichibukai gave it a harsh glance before grabbing something else.

After being unable to find anything, Mihawk shot to his feet, plucking his candle—now down to only three inches—from its roost and skulking off to find anything to remove the ghost flitting about in his mind. He scanned the shelves for anything, and mercifully found something in a language with which he was familiar. Eagerly he snatched the slender thing up and flicked it open, scanning the page before realizing he had stumbled across some sort of fight. As he read on, however, he found the novel went on to talk about love, and a young couple stupid enough to lay down their lives for something no stronger than mere infatuation.

The shichibukai snapped the disappointing thing shut and hastily replaced it, and in the dying candlelight he left the library.

As Mihawk tread through the dark halls, the low growl of thunder rumbled throughout the castle, shaking the stones from tower to foundation. Under his hand, the stones were cool, and the air was dank, as though the rain was seeping in through the cracks.

In the pitch dark, the shichibukai's imagination plagued him, manifesting itself in dim fantasies before his eyes. The boy stood there, shirtless and grim-faced, covered in blood and sweat, with his black bandana tight against his skull. The pull lurched, voicing its opinion fiercely. Through force of will, the phantasm disappeared, and Mihawk was left to continue in peace.

After several corners, and a flight of stairs, the image returned in the form of Zoro, laughing hard and pounding a full keg with one fist. The other hand was full, cheerily swinging a thick, glass mug full of beer. The shichibukai stopped, grounding himself with a palm flat against the wall as the pull threatened to drag him into the imagined scene. Again, the swordsman managed to rip himself from the fantasy.

At last, Mihawk ran his hand across a solid door. In the wood of it was carved an insignia of a feather, one so light that it couldn't be seen by most naked eyes. Quietly, the shichibukai slid his hand down and twisted the knob by his hip, pushing the squeaking door aside with little ceremony. He took a single step inside and instantly put down his right hand on the little table that stood ready beside the door. A flash of lightning lit the room for an instant, temporarily blinding the man as he prepared a candle.

While the light flickered to life in his hand, Mihawk was finally able to ground himself in reality. He took a look around his room, reassuring himself that the specter of his mind was not there. Against the bare wall to his right stood a stocky wardrobe, and beside it squatted a dresser. Across the room, a bed lurked in the corner. It was a four poster, with thick, crimson hangings that hid matching bedclothes. Beside the regal thing was a stout nightstand made of some dark, exotic wood.

Hanging on the wall beside the head of the bed was Kokuto Yoru. She hung majestically, with her scabbard shimmering in the candlelight. Mihawk strode to her, ran his hand over the hilt, and placed his forehead against the mesmerizing, blue pommel stone.

"Why does he haunt me?" he whispered to Yoru.

The shichibukai remained with his head bowed to his blade until the candle had run its course. As he stood, his mind cleared itself and brought him to a place he had visited once as a child. It was where the Grand Line crossed the Red Line, and the force of the currents were so powerful that water rushed upstream. The Reverse Mountain was like magic and awed him even to this day.

Slowly, Mihawk opened his eyes to the dark just in time for the windows above his blade to flash lightning at him. The rumble of thunder and heavy rain on glass drummed at his ears as he stood with his hand still on Yoru's hilt. Without a sound, the swordsman's hand dropped to his side and he perched lightly on the edge of the bed. In the dark the shichibukai slid his boots off and stuffed his socks gracelessly inside before placing both at the foot of the bed. Then, with nimble fingers, he unbuttoned his loose shirt and slid it off, tossing the garment onto the dresser.

As he wandered lazily to the void of sleep, he wondered at the plague of emotions and actions that had cursed him along with his house guests. Mihawk thought of the visits he had paid to his sleeping pupil, about how calm Zoro looked in his sleep. He thought of the way the younger swordsman's muscles pulled taut against his skin, and of how relaxed the flesh could become. The shichibukai wondered at why the boy was so determined to rise to the top, why he had come into the lair of his greatest enemy just to do so.

A mental chuckle rippled through the swordsman's mind—he would have done the same thing in his youth, had he had the opportunity.

Gently, he slipped into his dreams.

* * *

There was movement. It was all rhythms, all back and forth, up and down, again and again. It was rocking, creaking, pushing. Over and over, in and out. Like breathing.

It was the rhythm of sex.

Mihawk was familiar with the motions of it. Throughout the years, he had come into contact with many women, as well as his own needs. Several of those ladies that came to him were attracted to what they called his 'mystique', and all came to tame his power and temper it for themselves. However, despite the temptations each female presented he was still as free as a bird.

This was different though, the shadows were darker than all those other times, and he could only see the toned muscle of his partner's back. As he thrusted into the other person, the movement felt a little more jagged—and a little less practiced—than he was used to. The shichibukai was fucking a beginner.

Something else was off about the rhythm though. It felt forced, like his partner was resisting. Vaguely, the swordsman heard himself whisper, "Loosen up. Let me in." There was a weak effort, and the flesh only yielded a little more for his cock. Harder he pushed, gripping tight at the taut skin of his partner's back. Mihawk could feel heat in his palms and sweat on his body as he worked between the legs of the person receiving his love.

But he couldn't see that person's face, and it was driving him mad.

Slowly, the shichibukai withdrew, kneeling behind his lover and pushing at their hip. The other person rolled over onto their back and lay heaving on the bed. Gingerly, Mihawk took one foot in his hands and kissed at it, feeling the flesh below his lips twitch at the touch. The swordsman grinned. He worked his way up the leg in a lethargic fashion, occasionally nibbling playfully and feeling the twitch of the person in his hands.

The largest surprise for Mihawk was his lack of surprise at finding male genitalia on his partner. He had never in his life slept with a man before, but was as natural with it—if not more at ease—as he was with women. Before continuing on to his partner's face, as well as their identity, the shichibukai played with the shaft that stood at attention for him. His fingers slid along it, rubbing and caressing vigorously with the same attention he would give to his own penis. Under the swordsman's hands, the mystery lover trembled and twitched, with limbs upsetting the bedclothes. Sticky precum leaked in jerking spurts from the taut head, and after a little encouragement from the shichibukai's thumb, the other man came.

Mihawk inched forward, leaning over his lover and kissing the bold muscles of the man's abdomen. As he glanced over the skin with his lips, something about the rough, weathered feel of the skin felt vaguely familiar. Though he tried to dismiss the thought, it nagged at the swordsman from the back of his mind as he licked at the salty sweat running between the valleys of flesh. Skilled fingertips feathered up the man's sides, forcing the body below to tense alluringly, bringing to focus a thin scar that ran from hip to shoulder. In curiosity, Mihawk looked up, but his partner's face was still obscured in the shadows. The shichibukai frowned, but he just couldn't pull himself from teasing long enough to simply check his lover's face.

Again, the swordsman leaned back on his calves, dragging his fingers lightly over his partner's core as he went, with the latter twitching violently. With little effort, the shichibukai pushed his way into the warm flesh of the other man's ass and worked towards a rhythm. Legs clenched around his back, preventing Mihawk from escaping the enticing heat before he was finished. Low grumbles emanated from the swordsman's throat, sounds that were caught between growls of effort and purrs of pleasure.

Like claws, the shichibukai's fingers dug into the flesh of his unknown lover. He could feel the other man squirming in his grasp, but the legs at his back locked even more firmly in their position.

A building, freezing heat gripped the loins of the swordsman, and he moved quicker, thrusting himself to sweet release inside the other man's body. Even after he had cum, Mihawk kept moving. He spared a single hand, which found itself gliding along his lover's cock. The shichibukai stroked with hand and penis until the other man had cum for a second time. With the rhythmic clench of orgasm around his dick, Mihawk groaned with his golden eyes half-lidded.

Slowly, the swordsman disconnected himself from his lover, all the while enjoying the twitches of muscle that halted his parting in bursts of sensation.

Mihawk gently lowered the legs that had restrained him, and rolled onto his back besides his partner.

"Come here," he commanded in a low tone, his arms open. The newly-broken virgin complied, falling awkwardly into the shichibukai's embrace. The swordsman's face flashed in a grimace at the sudden elbow jabbing at his abdomen, but the expression was gone without a sound. Once his head was settled comfortably on Mihawk's broad chest, he slung an arm over the shichibukai's hip and laid halfway across his body.

Warm flesh rubbed tantalizingly across the swordsman's member.

In the dim lights, the only thing Mihawk knew for sure was that his lover's hair was familiarly short. His hands played through the strands, with fingers rubbing along the skull of the other man. The shichibukai traced his fingers down to his lover's ears, and was unsurprised to find cool, metal earrings on the left one. Vaguely, he counted three of the ornaments. The digits continued on, following the curve of the jaw around to the chin. In one swift movement, the swordsman had inclined his lover's face and kissed him square on the mouth, exploring the other man's mouth with his tongue.

Angelic, eager eyes locked onto his predatory, golden ones.

* * *

Mihawk woke to dim light filtering in through the window. He was only vaguely aware of a tightness in his loins—the engulfing sense of forgetting an extremely important dream commanded his full attention. Despite how the shichibukai tried to cling to the remnants of the dream, he could only remember bright eyes in the dark.

With annoyance, the swordsman sat up.

After giving the room a quick glance, Mihawk shifted his gaze out the window. The sky was still a foreboding gray, and the rush of wind and leaves threatened round two of the vicious storm from last night. Weakly, the shichibukai wondered if he felt up to going outside for a lesson today. Of course, that depended on Zoro's attitude as well.

In the back of Mihawk's mind, memory stirred. The movement of his dream crept into his conscious, slowly, but still hung in the shadows of his mind. His leg moved, and the cloth slid across his nether regions, firing off a pleasurable sensation in his groin. With a single sweep of his hand, the blanket was pulled aside so that the swordsman could see his entire body. The swordsman sighed in annoyance.

After a second of blank-minded contemplation, Mihawk shimmied out of his pants. Though he wasn't often plagued by morning wood, it was becoming a more common occurrence since the arrival of his guests. Most days, the shichibukai would simply ignore it and allow his penis to settle on its own; however, some combination of the feeling from his dream the night before and his jumbled blur of caged emotions demanded he deal with biology then and there.

Mihawk started slowly, like he always did—something about building from a foundation always seemed natural to him. His hand moved vigorously around the shaft, twisting and sliding. He worked delicately, doing what he could to work around his lack of lubrication. The shichibukai could feel himself flushing with heat as snatches of pleasure pulsed out from his cock like waves from a ship. Like he would Yoru or Kogatana, the swordsman handled himself with care and grace.

Once precum started to leak from the slit, Mihawk quickened his hand. His breathing—though not strained—took on a labored quality. Across his chest and abdomen were bright red patches of flesh, and the sinking feeling of muscles tightening imploded the shichibukai's stomach. The man's thumb flicked to the head of his dick and stroked with the rest of the hand, sending muscles contracting in the waves of orgasm.

As he came, the eyes from the dream surged into Mihawk's conscious thought, along with the person they belonged to. Like a sack of concrete, the dream returned to the shichibukai as vividly as it had been the night before. The swordsman's eyes shot open and his hand slacked a little from his cock.

"Shit," he hissed lightly, his brow furrowing as his mind reeled. Without thinking, the shichibukai leaned back and ran his soiled hand through his hair, his thoughts and gaze far from his sparse bedroom. The sudden realization required analysis and calculation, and the only thing that came to mind was the first glimpse Mihawk had caught of Zoro's more angelic features.

That had been the beginning of the end.

The shichibukai continued to sit, his mind running over the past two weeks, flipping frantically through the pages of his memory and searching for anything to reject the truth proposed by his dream. However, the dead-of-night visits, the pull's tenacity, and his own genuine desire to see the boy succeed could only prove the dream right.

Lamely, Mihawk dragged himself from the bed. From his wardrobe he pulled fresh clothing, and he left the room in despairing gloom. A shower and trim did nothing to improve the swordsman's mood, and with a sinking black hole of dread in the pit of his stomach, the shichibukai steeled his countenance against the onslaught of a desire he had never wished to know.

* * *

Zoro had barely been able to sleep and instead had opted for long periods of meditation so deep he could feel his eyes twitching rapidly under the lids. His mind had pinpointed on the three sources of power for so long that he felt he could take any question that came his way.

As soon as the first lights had lit his meager room, the young swordsman was up and out of bed. Getting ready for the day was a simple affair: grab his shirt, snag his bandanna, and slip on his haramaki. On his way out the door, the pirate snatched up his three blades and fastened them to his hip as he walked.

He stalked silently down the hall, trying to find his way to one of the courtyards. Though Zoro was able to find an exit, he stumbled across a small garden instead. He walked among the rows of plants, absentmindedly pawing the leaves of each plant he passed. Nothing was labeled, and the swordsman only half-recognized a handful of vegetables. Along the far wall stood a row of broad trees, each boasting its own leaf and some sporting flowers. The blooms were tiny and white, with rounded petals and some with pink centers. After a minute, the young pirate realized that the scent of these trees filled the whole garden.

Beneath one of the blooming trees he sat, with his spine along the trunk of the tree. A brush of wind found its way around the wall and showered Zoro with tiny petals. He couldn't help but catch one from the air. Though the thing was small and barely pink, he wondered if this was part of the miracle Chopper had brought to his home.

The crack of thunder rumbled a warning across the island, and Zoro sighed. He rose, wanting to avoid another time-wasting tongue-lashing from Perona. With hesitant steps, the swordsman slowly made his way back into the castle, but not until the sky had pelted him with at least a few heavy raindrops.

Once he was back inside, Zoro worked his way slowly back to his room, and from there, the dining room. The swordsman backtracked at least seven times, had to pause at three crossing corridors, and on several occasions stumbled into the wrong room. Finally, he crossed Perona's door. The young pirate carried on from the familiar point, delving back into the maze of halls.

Zoro nearly bypassed the dining hall doors. It was only after he had taken several steps beyond his destination that he realized his mistake, and with a hasty stride he passed into the hall.

Mihawk was absent. In confusion, the young swordsman took a quick look around the room, but there was no mistaking the fact that the man was simply nowhere to be seen. Though he would have lingered on the thought, Zoro passed into the kitchen. It was also void of life. The young pirate subconsciously stepped lightly, wondering what kind of lesson he was supposed to be learning in the absence of others. He ducked inside the fridge, grabbing out a couple of eggs and shutting the door behind him. Gently, the swordsman placed the eggs on the stove and pawed through the cupboards, trying to find the pan he usually saw Perona using to cook. After a bit of clattering, he found it and had it on the stove. For a moment, he looked at the array of knobs, trying to puzzle out what the little dots below each knob was.

Once Zoro had figured out the correspondence between knobs and burners, he had the pan on and several eggs cooking. As they sizzled, he searched through the drawers for something to nudge the food around with, and ended up finding a large, wooden spoon. The swordsman returned to his pan, shoving the eggs about and scrapping fervently at them to remove them from the pan.

"Have you added any butter, Roronoa?"

Zoro glanced up from his eggs to see Mihawk resting on the inside of the door frame and watching as his student cooked. The young pirate glanced back down at the browning, flaky chunks before raising questioning eyes to the shichibukai.

"What does that do?"

Mihawk held back a disappointed sigh.

"It keeps the eggs from sticking to the pan," the elder swordsman explained, crossing to the fridge—while keeping out of arms length of his student—and retrieving a small jar of butter. He held it out for Zoro, who grabbed it and accidentally brushed his fingertips against his teacher's palm. The shichibukai tensed and took a subtle step back.

The young swordsman unscrewed the lid and snatched up his spoon. Mihawk hesitated for a second before darting out with his hand and catching Zoro by the shoulder. For a second, the elder swordsman let his hand linger before he forced his hand to drop.

"We use knives for the butter, Roronoa. You shouldn't even be using that spoon—it would be like bringing fists to a sword fight."

For a split second, the younger pirate's face was scrunched in thought before smoothing out again. The shichibukai tensed again. While Zoro searched for a butter knife his teacher could barely help staring straight at his ass. The student turned with his knife, and despite his usual speed, Mihawk's eyes were a second slow on snapping back to the pan. Zoro glanced at his feet, and, seeing nothing, he returned his attention to his half-burnt eggs.

"You'll need a spatula as well, Roronoa," the shichibukai commented once the younger swordsman had flicked a pad of butter among the eggs. Zoro looked at the drawers and started pawing through the closest one to his hip.

Wordlessly, Mihawk brushed past his student, catching the scent of iron on the younger man. The pull threatened, but the shichibukai ignored it and instead pulled open the desired drawer and drew from it a thin, metal spatula. He held it out to Zoro, who took it without—much to the elder swordsman's relief—making any physical contact.

Mihawk stepped back, leaving his student a free path to the door. The sizzle of eggs filled the air, and their smell permeated the room. Golden eyes constantly watched the movement of the young swordsman's back, and the shichibukai could feel himself salivating. His jaw clenched tight and he folded his arms as securely as possible. Remnants of his dream from the night before kept fluttering into his conscious, forcing the older swordsman to bat them away mentally.

Finally, Zoro was finished, and after a bit of scraping he managed to liberate his breakfast from the pan and slide the eggs onto a plate. With a clatter, the young pirate dug a fork out of the drawer and headed towards the stairs. Before he made it through the doorway, however, he turned back and caught his teacher's gaze.

"Thanks."

Mihawk cocked an eyebrow.

"What for?"

"For helping me make the eggs. Thanks."

Right before the young man turned to leave, his face flashed in eager excitement. Then he was gone, leaving the shichibukai dazzled in his wake.

"Dammit, Roronoa," Mihawk growled, stepping forward and vigorously cleaning the pan for his own breakfast. He ended up cooking a few strips of bacon, his appetite having mysteriously vanished. Distractedly, he pawed through the wine and grabbed a glass. At the foot of the stairs leading to the dining room, the shichibukai paused, steeling himself.

With a slow, heavy tread the swordsman mounted the stairs.

The instant he entered the dining room the pull was demanding, tugging at Mihawk's resolve as it tried to drag him towards his student. Grimly, the shichibukai resisted, keeping his paces measured as he approached the table. He sat in his normal place, at the head of the table, and avoided even glimpsing at his student as he nibbled at his meager breakfast and sipped weakly at his drink.

Shortly after Mihawk had finished one strip and was working on the second, Zoro spoke up.

"I have my answers," he said, his voice radiating confidence. The shichibukai clenched his jaw and looked up, barely managing to keep his face steady as he cocked a questioning eyebrow. Silence descended upon them, with only the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. Teacher kept hoping his student would pick up the hint, would explain, but with each passing second it was becoming more obvious that Zoro didn't realize what was expected of him. Very carefully, the elder swordsman slacked his jaw enough to speak.

"What do you know about your blades then?"

The student was ready: Quickly, he shot back his answers, hefting up a sword as he spoke about it.

"Shusui is one of the great quality swords, and his blade can handle any kind of punishment. He's also a bit testy, and likes throwing me off balance. I've been working with him, but he's been digging his heels in."

With a light thud, the young pirate placed the sword on the table, next to his clean plate. Mihawk stopped him with a question.

"How did you come across him?"

"What?"

The shichibukai contained himself despite the slightly confused expression on his student's face. "How did you obtain Shusui?"

Zoro thought a moment, debating with himself as to whether or not he should tell Mihawk. His answer came solidly. "I can't tell you."

Both Mihawk's eyebrow's shot up before his face set into something of a knowing smile.

"All right. What of your other blades?"

The younger pirate gave a slight smile as his face brightened, and he held his second sword aloft while he spoke about it. "Sandai Kitetsu is troublesome at times, but he never gives me too much crap. I got him in Roguetown, just before we entered the Grand Line." Briefly, Zoro pictured the faces of both the store owner and the frustrating Marine. He grinned at the thought and said, "If he didn't want to work with me, he had his chance to say no."

Mihawk cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. The shichibukai had to bite down a little on his tongue so the slight pain would distract him from the allure of his student's bright features. It didn't work quite as well as the older swordsman hoped. He sat, torn between wanting to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible and staying to finish the lesson. A third option threatened to creep into Mihawk's consciousness, but he shoved it aside as Zoro introduced his third sword.

"This is Wado Ichimonji," he explained. The young swordsman's features softened a little in a way that made his teacher twitch. "She's... damn, she's been with me since I was a kid. She's always been there. Ichimonji's been helpful and faithful, resilient, and she keeps the other two in line." Zoro smiled. "She's family."

The shichibukai sat in silence, wondering why the blade had such an effect on his student. A fleeting thought also passed through his head: How can I make him look like that in my direction? Finally, Mihawk spoke again.

"So where does your need to fight rise from?"

Zoro wasted no time in replying. "It comes from promises."

"To who?"

"To others, most the time. It mostly comes and goes with whoever I'm fighting, or whatever fights my captain ends up picking." He let out a little laugh and muttered, "The dumbass."

After a second of thought, the elder swordsman asked a question that had nagged at him ever since he met Zoro.

"Who did you promise my defeat to, then?"

For a second, the young pirate didn't answer. His mind had traveled back to when he was a child, when he was still green. He winced slightly as he remembered his best friend's body, covered by a thin sheet. The look did not go unnoticed. "I promised Kuina I'd become so great she could hear about it in heaven." Zoro's eyes met Mihawk's. "I'll make sure she sees me, even if join her in the process."

The shichibukai felt the sting of a lightning bolt shoot through him: a pang of envy. The swordsman could stand it no longer: he rose and picked up his half-eaten breakfast.

"Good," Mihawk said briskly, "You know what you want, and what you're willing to risk for it. Most do not." He turned and started to leave. As he reached the door for the kitchen, he turned his head just long enough to say, "Your next lesson begins tomorrow, after breakfast. You will need to bring nothing with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You know the difference between this chapter and the others? I've actually got a beta reader! Dios mio! Anyhoo, thanks to Wild Rhov for checking over this for me. The rest of you need to be thanking her too-otherwise this chappie would have been shorter.
> 
> On a slightly less praise-worthy note, this could have gotten out sooner, but WoW is just a little too addictive, and I'm a little too distractable. But it did get out within two months, so that's a step in the right direction! Also, just asking, I've been tossing around the idea of a Lu/Zo fic where Luffy gets ahold of one of Chopper's rumble balls. Yea or nay on doing that right now? (No, I wouldn't be abandoning Two Years for it, Rumble would just be a by-the-highway one-shot.)
> 
> As it stands, I'm really happy with this chapter. Yay, OP Wiki, it is my bible for OP fanfics. I absolutely loved writing the dream section (damn, Mihawk's a vivid dreamer), and it probably could have gone on. However, I'm not pissing off the man who's currently guarding my WoW authenticator-I may never see it again.
> 
> Quite frankly, I really ought to be doing homework right now; however, getting this chapter out felt more compelling. Still, stuff will be as I can do so. Yay, distractions.
> 
> Hoping you guys still are still enjoying this.
> 
> As I am,
> 
> Lady Spritzy


	5. Chapter 4

** Chapter 4 **

Underfoot, the soggy ground squelched. As Zoro moved on, his tracks were marked by grass plastered in the mud. Rain fell openly from the sky and soaked both teacher and student as they trudged through the foliage, with the latter's clothes practically a second skin on him. Unlike the younger man, however, Mihawk was protected by both the low brim of his hat and wide sweep of his coat.

Neither of them was truly bothered by the precipitation, though.

With each step, they distanced themselves from the castle, though only the teacher knew exactly where they were heading. He strode doggedly ahead, well aware of the younger man that squelched behind him. Despite himself, however, Mihawk kept his mind busy with the lesson ahead and his destination. It was a difficult place to find, tucked away in the farther reaches of the island and virtually untouched by earlier inhabitants. 

The shichibukai pulled himself back to the trail under him as it grew more treacherous. Branches swung away from him, threatening to lash the student following just a little too closely. Zoro was ducking under them, however, nimbly dodging each swing like he would a sword. After a while, Mihawk found himself purposefully testing his student's maneuverability.

From somewhere among the trees, an angry screech called out and was echoed by several others—the various tribes of humandrills were competing for territory again. Though the territorial displays would not necessarily disrupt their lesson, Mihawk could not guarantee that the apes would leave the area unscathed. After all, the shichibukai was growing ever more desperate for something to take his frustrations out on.

By this time the foliage was like a tunnel, leaves and branches woven so tightly together that they forced the swordsman to bow beneath them. Mihawk tugged his hat lower and pressed on, silently glad for the obscuring plants. Despite the screen, Zoro crashed through the undergrowth, the crackling and rustling taunting his teacher. For a moment, the shichibukai struggled with himself silently before deciding not to correct his student.

There would be time enough for that once he had dealt with that damnable lust.

Finally, they were clear of the brush and trees and emerged from beneath the lattice of branches. Mihawk's jaw set quietly as he gazed out over the pond, catching a glimpse of his student in his periphery and doggedly ignoring it. The dappled light filtering through the trees was marked by a muted reflection upon the still lake, and algae floated lazily across the surface.

“Is this it?” The disappointment in Zoro's voice was enough for Mihawk to imagine his face, but the shichibukai sneaked a glance anyway. Though he instantly regretted the decision, something in the back of the elder swordsman's head felt a bit dejected. 

Mihawk turned that disappointment around, channeled it.

“What do you see that makes you think so little is here?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow at his teacher, surprised the shichibukai could not recognize the obvious.

“It's just a stagnant pond and some trees.”

“Are you really that blind?”

“What? There's no animals, no fish in that pond. It's just...dead.”

Ever so slightly, Mihawk's face shifted, his already dark countenance becoming ominous. The younger swordsman inched subconsciously away, like a horse before the storm. The low rumble of far-off thunder growled, as if nature itself had taken offense.

“You will sit by this pond,” the shichibukai said quietly, “and you will reflect upon it. You will look around you and try to open your mind a little more.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “No, you will do better than try.”

Despite the confused, almost cheated look on his face, Zoro sat cross-legged on the shore of the lake.

“Now what?”

“You said this place was dead: I know for a fact that you are wrong. I want you to be able to tell me why this place is alive, Zoro. More importantly, I want you to be able to tell me why the fact that it lives is so important.”

Mihawk turned to leave, but stopped a moment to look back at his soaked student. Something about the way he sat, obviously trying to get his mind around his new assignment, struck a cord in the teacher. Subconsciously, the swordman's jaw set. As slowly as he could, the shichibukai removed his overcoat, wondering the whole time whether or not he was making a mistake.

Somehow, that didn't matter.

Gently, he placed the red coat on his student's shoulders, struggling to ignore the vague feel of muscles beneath. He rose and backed away silently as Zoro stared at him in confusion.

“I do not want you returning to the castle until you have finished your task. The next time I see you, you will either tell me what I need to hear, or you will leave this island. Am I understood?”

The confusion wiped itself from the young swordsman's face and set in determination. 

“Yes.”

In a flash, Mihawk had vanished into the undergrowth, moving more swiftly than he had on the way there and hoping the low shadow of his hat had hidden the small blush that marred his face.

* * *

After so many hours, Zoro had still found nothing. He was drenched and shivering slightly, staring balefully at the taciturn pond. There had been not so much as the call of a bird nor the cry of a humandrill, and even the roars of thunder were growing ever monotonous. This already dank place was fading into the darkness of night, and nothing had come to the young swordsman.

With a squelch, Zoro pulled himself out of the muddy bank, stretching his cramped muscles and taking another glance around. He could feel hunger starting to gnaw at him, but he did not recognize any of the nearby plants well enough to risk eating them. Quietly, he stepped away from the bank, his heavy footsteps emphasized by the sucking pop of mud.

Something heavy fell from his back and he turned hastily to see what it was. Crumpled in the mud was Mihawk's coat, soaked through and dirty. Zoro had almost forgotten it. He snatched the thing up, staring at the intricate design for a moment before swinging it over his shoulders and settling the weighty mantle upon his back. He then continued on, making several laps around the pond before simply settling down for the night.

The pirate dreamed vaguely of his crew. Though he saw nothing of them, he felt emotions and sensations, recognizing each member by how he felt them. In no particular order they passed by, but pass they did. Except for Luffy. Zoro recognized him by the deep respect he felt, and the feeling refused to leave even after the pirate had woken. 

He rose with a complaining stomach. Zoro had not eaten since the morning before, and that had meager scraps due to his own excitement. In the back of his mind, the swordsman was missing Sanji—but not that much. Despite his grievances with the cook, at least the man could make a decent meal out of what seemed like nothing. After a moment of glancing around, the swordsman determined there was nothing to be had in this place and prepared to leave.

As Zoro ducked into the tight curl of branches and leaves that marked his entrance point, something snagged in his mind. He had been charged to understand the importance of this pond as a living being. If he left now, he might not be able to return. 

Quietly, the swordsman backed away from the branches, instead making another lap around the pond and eying the brambles that guarded it like a razor-wire fence. Zoro had no doubts that he could easily bore his way through the thorns—after all, he had come away conscious from worse pains that a few minor scratches—but he could not say the same for the coat draped across his shoulders. The material was thick and fairly water-resistant, but it was not anything Zoro was familiar with, and he was not about to risk shredding his teacher's property.

Again, Zoro returned to the pond's bank, standing and staring into the still water.

Or perhaps it wasn't so still. 

The rain had cleared at some point during the night, leaving only overcast skies in its wake. Even the trees seemed to have shed all the water from their leaves. Despite that knowledge, however, an occasional ripple traveled across the clear regions of the pond. Zoro took a step forward, his boot sinking deep into the mud.

A gentle wind brushed through the leaves of the trees above, making them chatter in their shushing voices. The swordsman looked up at them, trying to understand just how these were living things. True, they needed water, but that was about it, he figured. Or the pond at his feet, for that matter. Why did Mihawk consider these things as alive as people or animals? It wasn't like they could run or eat or fight or anything. They were just... there.

After a moment, Zoro shed the coat and stepped out of his boots, feeling the cold mud seeping between his toes. Water encircled his ankles and lapped at the hems of his pants. Again, the breeze stole across the treetops, bringing with is a whispering symphony. He closed his eyes, trying to get a feel for the water at his feet and the feeble wind brushing against his skin.

It reminded him of the ocean and how calm it could be. But beyond the calm was rage, buried deep within the currents. The Grand Line especially, with the way it would disorient and destroy any unwary sailors. Like some wily, cruel mistress....

A conversation he had had with Nami at one point came to mind. He had asked her why she navigated, what had inspired her. Without skipping a beat, she replied that the ocean had always interested her, especially in how it communicated. Nami had described it as though she were playing poker with the weather. She could tell when the clouds were bluffing and when the wind was serious. Something about that made her want to gamble against the sea.

Zoro wondered if the same principle applied here.

There was only one way to find out.

In the distance came the crash of rustling leaves, growing ever closer until it breezed by overhead. Zoro's brow furled and he cocked his head to one side, eyes still closed. Again, like a wave, the sounds approached and passed. A third wave started, and as it grew closer, Zoro tried to predict when it would pass.

He was nearly correct.

For a while longer he stood there, eyes lightly closed and listening to the trees whispering above him. Little wisps of wind fluttered across his skin, cooling his damp clothes. A shiver ran through him, and the water lapped a little at his ankles. 

Something about this place did strike a cord in the swordsman, now that he thought about it. It was a place of watching and listening instead of purely action. Just because it was quiet did not warrant it being dead. Just sleeping. A smile came to Zoro's lips: a nap sounded pretty good.

Without a word, his eyes opened, and he retreated from the water. Languidly, he retrieved his teacher's coat and strode towards the trees with it. Several branches hung low over the nettle, each swaying gently as if to grab his attention. Zoro chose one after a while and gently hung the coat from it so that the vestment could flutter with the breeze. Beneath it, he settled down and took a brief, dreamless nap.

Grunts and screeches startled the young pirate awake.

As Zoro's eyes snapped open, the beast leaning over him snorted rancid air into his face. Out of reflex, the young man's hand pawed for swords that were not there. He could afford no time to worry about where they had gone—the humandrill towering above him had raised its fist to strike.

With a thud, the ape's arm crashed where Zoro's head had been just seconds before, the pirate having rolled into the pond. The creature screeched in fury, pounding the ground and advancing for another shot. Before he knew it, Zoro had snapped to his feet and was half-crouched. He could feel each muscle pulled taught. Heat radiated from his core, setting his skin aflame. The young man's heart thundered in his ears, and his breath came in deep pulls.

The humandrill paused, watching and reflecting him.

They stared at one another for a while, Zoro wary of making the first move. He was fully aware of what the mimic could do. The swordsman's stance widened ever so slightly, sending out a ripple across the pond. Slowly, the ape followed his lead until it had achieved an identical bearing.

From above, the trees rustled, and the silence broke beneath the piercing cry of the humandrill. The dance it did would have been intimidating to most, with all the pounding and stomping and bearing of fangs. 

All Zoro saw was a challenge.

He roared at the beast, sending water flying in his wake. The young man rose a cacophony known only to brigands and thieves, calling on the deafening lessons he had learned as a pirate. In protest, the beast screeched and hooted louder, and the two of them incited each other to greater heights until both believed the other to be whipped into a sufficient frenzy.

Without warning, the humandrill lunged.

They splashed into the pond together, tumbling and grabbing, trying to claim a purchase to higher ground. Zoro felt naked without his blades, and he scrambled not only for an advantageous position, but for a weapon. Breath was fleeting. The world flickered between sound and silence. Pain accosted the swordsman's eyes as he struggled to keep them open underwater.

Hands clutched his neck.

Out of instinct, Zoro clawed at grasping things; however, despite his strength, the beast was stronger still. The swordsman's head was dunked, though the pressure around his throat kept him from swallowing water. He gave up using his hands—they were worthless. Instead, the pirate tucked his legs in tightly, planted his feet in the ape's stomach, and kicked out like a piston.

With a splash, the humandrill was forced from the water, still grasping Zoro around the neck. However, he used the small amount of leeway granted to take in as much air as possible. Again, the ape pressed in on the swordsman's throat. The pirate was ready this time.

One strong hand gripped the humandrill's wrist, anchoring the rest of the body. His other limbs assaulted the creature, forcing it to recoil. A well-placed boot to the chest was the final blow, and in a rush of air Zoro found himself gasping on hands and knees.

The beast was not finished. It dragged the pirate up by his hair, glaring into his face and snorting sour air. In response, Zoro snarled back, ignoring his instincts to grasp his head and instead punching the ape square in the face. A brief interim was granted, allowing the pirate to discover his victory hanging behind his attacker.

Zoro was agile—all of the Straw Hats were—and before the creature could seize him again, he had ducked around it. The humandrill snorted, turning to attack.

_Whunk_. Blood was oozing out of the beast's nose as the deafening crack rang throughout the otherwise quiet grove. It stood, dazed for a moment as the branch that struck it shivered. Zoro was still gasping, watching tensely as his attacker simply balanced. With a splash, the human teetered back into the water and landed flat on its back. Somehow, it had managed to fall in shallow enough water to permit breathing.

Without a second glance at the unconscious beast, Zoro collected his teacher's cloak and turned to leave the isolated pond. On his way out, he patted the branch that had served him well.

“Thanks.”

* * *

Mihawk was beginning to loathe himself for how testy he had become. It had been several days since he left Roronoa to his task, and the shichibukai was growing disappointed. His anxiety was irritating. At night, he could not help dreaming about the younger pirate, and during the day the shichibukai saw phantoms of him everywhere. He avoided self-pleasure like the plague.

The swordsman paced his library, mounting the stairs and descending multiple times as his mind struggled to occupy itself with anything besides his pupil. For the hundredth time, the idea of sending Perona after Zoro crossed his mind. With a frown, Mihawk shed the thought quickly.

Despite how calming the sanctuary of books normally was, its effects were only mild and temporary now. The shichibukai stormed out, stalking the halls of his once-peaceful castle and lurking in his own home. Though he had no idea where he was going, the swordsman could not let himself stop or slow, lest he be caught by the specters of his mind. Mihawk passed through the labyrinthine corridors, hoping to lose his pathetic desires in the twist of halls. 

As he started to pass a familiar door, he halted. Something from within the room seemed to beckon to him, and the shichibukai found himself powerless to resist. He knew right away where he was, but his better judgment had fled. Fading red light filtered through the thick window, and lying on the bed were three glimmering swords tucked neatly away in their scabbards.

The shichibukai sat on the edge of the bed like a timid child. He eyed the blades, unwilling to approach but unable to retreat. For a silent moment, he hung where he was, gazing at the swords that would most likely mark his death. Hesitantly, one hand inched towards the blades, drawing as close as it could without resting upon them. Again, he stopped at the threshold, staring at the swords.

Mihawk checked himself—he had been drawn in here, called. If they did not want him here, they would not have tugged so insistently. Gently, his fingers brushed up against one of the scabbards—Shusui, if he remembered correctly. He could sense it, somewhere in the back of his mind, the grumbling aura of the blade. As his fingertips brushed along another sheath—this one he believed was Sandai Kitetsu—which bristled with a similar feel.

As his hand passed over Ichimonji, it stopped in mid-air. The blade felt different from the others—more like a guardian than a mercenary. Something about her resonated in the swordsman, from the deepest pit in his gut to the airiest reaches of his soul. This resonance was familiar, one he felt on a daily basis with Yoru.

“You're worried about him as well,” Mihawk murmured, allowing his hand to rest on the white blade. As he sat there, part of himself regretted leaving Zoro out in the woods unprotected. However, the other part, the strict-minded teacher, knew it was a vital experience. For a while, he sat there, staring in the fading light, his mind trying to set these conflicting emotions at ease.

Again, the temptation crossed his mind to send Perona out to look for Roronoa. After all, she had been famous as a spy for Moriah. Mihawk frowned. The boy would return when he was ready, of that he had no doubt, but the thing in the pit of his stomach made him unaccountably antsy. Slowly, the shichibukai found himself becoming more aware of the blades under his hands, and he relaxed a little. The powerful tools had chosen Zoro as their master—their faith was unflagging. 

_It's not that they're worried about him,_ Mihawk mused.  _It's that they don't trust my intent._

He eyed the swords.

“And perhaps with good reason,” he muttered, rising.

Something about that thought bothered him. As it were, the shichibukai had always kept a firm control over both his physical and emotional desires. He could easily shut off impulses and sensations like a faucet, and even the most minute aspects of himself were not beyond control.

But somehow this... this  _child_ had wrenched the command from him with little more than a glance. Worse yet, Roronoa wasn't trying—wasn't aware, even! He had reduced one of the most feared men on the Grand Line to a worrisome, lusting wreck without effort.

“Dammit, boy,” he grumbled, glaring ahead as he strode through the castle, “Overcome this.”

The shichibukai slunk into the dining room, grateful for smothering darkness that had taken over. With ease, he descended into the kitchen, scrounging food despite having no appetite. He cooked nothing and lit no fires—for some reason, lighting the stove seemed like too much effort. It was amazing he even bothered to pick a bottle of wine to drink.

He ate slowly, musing as he did. Around him, all was mute—sensations were weakened, taste dulled, and his sinuses felt cramped. The physical world seemed to be forcing the swordsman to deal with himself. The loathsome tug in his stomach made eating difficult.

Finally, Mihawk managed to somehow finish his meager dinner.

He skulked away from the dining hall, dragging himself towards his sleeping quarters. All the while, his mind sought to torment him, summoning visions of the younger swordsman. It took the greatest part of his will to dismiss the phantasms and keep them away long enough for him to arrive at his room. Gratefully, Mihawk struck a match, allowing the gentle light to show him sweet reality.

Or perhaps it was not so sweet.

Even the most foolish child could have told him his situation was doomed to get worse. Mihawk frowned, his eyebrows knit tight over his sharp nose. Where was his control? What was he abandoning years of patience and dominance training for? Quietly, he sat.

The cold, stone floor was comforting. It grounded the shichibukai, helping him gather his thoughts and shuffle them into order. Each muscle relaxed one at a time as his breathing slowed to a gentle brush of air. Flickering, the tiny flame of the match faded and left him in the dark.

As much as he hated himself for it, Mihawk could not deny the slew of emotions that now haunted him. Ever since the first realization struck, he had been unable to out-pace the phantasms—then again, he had never been one to flee. His eyebrows raised.

Silently, he began to compromise with himself. Denial of the issue was folly. But fully embracing it would be disastrous. Where did the middle ground lie, though? Was it in peeking glances like some shy teen? Or was the trick hidden within the imagination? Though the answer was unclear, the swordsman could feel himself regaining some semblance of control.

In the dark, Mihawk got to his feet. Easily, he found his bed and discarded his clothes. He settled in slowly, feeling fabric on his skin as he pulled the covers over him. On his back, he stared into the dark late into the night, still trying to puzzle out a solution as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Groggily, Mihawk dragged himself up out of the dungeons he slept in. He lumbered through the halls, a meager candle lighting his way. There was still worry heavy upon his soul; however, he struggled out of his torpor and somehow managed to bathe and dress himself. Hunger ate away at him, heaping on more weight. Despite all this, he found himself free of the hallucinations that had previously tormented him.

As he passed the rooms of his 'guests', something felt off. He stopped, back-tracking to each doorway and peaking inside. Perona was huddled on her bed, sleeping in a near-fetal position. Mihawk moved quickly to inspect Zoro's room. It was unscathed, but something was out of place. After a moment, the shichibukai realized what was missing: Roronoa's blades. His brow furrowed, and the weight grew.

He refused to let himself worry too much about it and strode on towards the dining hall, passing quickly through the doors and down into the kitchens. Despite his hunger, he cooked very little. His selection in drink was a quick one, and he was up the stairs, balancing his breakfast on spread fingertips.

Before he had even caught a glimpse of the dining hall, he knew someone was there. His pace quickened, and he stopped dead as he laid eyes on his visitor.

Zoro stood, chest out and head high, Mihawk's coat resting gently on his shoulders. The young pirate was muddy and tattered; however, the coat was in pristine condition. At his waist were his three swords, glimmering at their master's side.

The worry and doubt that had piled on the shichibukai's conscious fell from him in a landslide, though it was instantly replaced by the rapacious pull in his gut. He stood in silence a moment, his breakfast forgotten as he fought to keep relief from flooding his face. That was a battle he nearly lost. 

Finally, he stated, “You've returned.”

The younger man grinned apologetically. “I'm sorry it took so long,” he explained, “I could've come back earlier, but I wanted to confirm my answer before I returned.” Zoro held out his teacher's coat. “Here, I tried to keep it clean.”

For a second, Mihawk stared at the garment before passing his student and making a beeline for the table. With far more care and time than was necessary, the shichibukai laid out his breakfast, strategically keeping his back to Zoro the entire time. The latter remained still, watching silently. Slowly, Mihawk turned to face his student, steeling himself.

Zoro still stood there, holding the heavy coat. Something about the tilt of his head, the morning light casting shadows across his neck and shoulders, caught the eyes of the shichibukai. In the back of his mind, he imagined the bare flesh....

Mihawk held out his hand, the gesture robotic. He could barely trust himself to stand, let alone walk or speak. Quietly, Zoro strode confidently forward—the bold gait riveting in his teacher's eyes—and again held out the coat. Gently, the shichibukai retrieved his garment, deliberately brushing against his student's skin. His mouth twitched just a little, and he had to clench his teeth as he kept his eyes steady. Mihawk turned, planting himself stiffly in his chair and ignoring the overpowering scent of his pupil. He bit his tongue, desperate for some taste other than Zoro's sweat.

Sitting was a blessing the shichibukai thought he would never be allowed. If he had been a weaker man, his legs would have trembled. He could feel his gut trying to cave in on itself. Mihawk struggled to keep his head high. 

As he lifted his hand to eat, his coat dragged across his lap. The shichibukai swore in his mind, his face twitching slightly. He handled it disdainfully, sweeping it across the back of his chair with some semblance of grace. Once that was settled, he turned to the student he had been keeping in his periphery. Zoro stood barely three feet from him, intently watching with barely-contained excitement.

“You may sit,” Mihawk said almost irritably, waving his hand towards a chair. To his dismay, the younger swordsman took the nearest chair possible and gazed intently at him as he ate. The boy was so tantalizingly close, his smell so overwhelming that it took place of the taste of his meal. Struggling, the shichibukai slowly finished his breakfast.

Once he had finished, Mihawk set his plate to the side, clearing his throat with a low rumble. He could feel heat branding his flesh, and in the back of his mind he fretted that the full-body blush showed on his face.

“So,” the teacher finally said, barely able to get that much out. Zoro leaned eagerly forward. Every muscle in Mihawk's body strained to keep him from leaping forward and seizing his student, a splintery fence trying to hold back stampeding stallions. “What did you find?” Mihawk nearly gagged on the words, nearly lost himself as the younger swordsman launched into his answer.

“I found you were right,” Zoro said, a slight, subconscious blush crossing his face. It did not go unnoticed. “That pond was—er, is—alive. But it's not just that. This whole island is alive.” He spread his arms wide, and a smile split his face. “Even the rocks and grass and pond slime. All of that, living.”

Straining, the teacher gave a single, taut nod. “Why?” he asked, quieter than he would have liked.

“It's 'cause of how they interact with the world. Yeah, a rock doesn't move on its own, but if you roll it down the hill, it can still cause damage.”

The shichibukai stayed silent for a moment, steeling himself before replying, “That may be true, but what of the pond? You cannot roll that down a hill.”

Zoro shot back, “It's still part of the world. If it wasn't there, you wouldn't have to walk around or swim through. There wouldn't be moss or trees there without that water. The pond still changes the world.”

“So why is it important?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” Zoro asked back. “It changes how we move through the world. It influences our actions. If these things weren't here, then where would we be?”

Mihawk raised his eyebrows and considered the argument. It was not quite the answer he had been looking for, but it was close. Quietly, he decided his next course of action.

“Go bathe,” he commanded, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “And rest. We will continue tomorrow morning.”

As Zoro exited, his teacher could hear the excitement in his gait. Only once the younger man was out of the room did he finally exhale.

“It appears,” he murmured, “I need to retrain myself, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally forgot I posted this here. I'll get this caught up ASAP. Original author's notes are as follows:
> 
> Well hello hello again! I pulled myself from the morass once more to bring you all updates! To newer readers who have never seen this thing update, welcome to my sporadic updating schedule! And to the old hands who are already used to my slow ass, welcome back! Along with greetings, I'd also very much like to thank my beta Rhov for putting up with my lazy bum, as she is quite the delightful person (I would highly suggest reading her works if you enjoy mine!)  
> There are a great many reason why I haven't been around, some noble, some mundane, but I think the three largest reasons (in order) are Tumblr, Homestuck, and school. Anyhow, I hope you guys don't mind--as always, I strive for quality over quantity. I am still hacking away at this fic, I swear.  
> I hope you all enjoyed, and perhaps the next chapter will be out soon (don't bank on it).  
> As I am,  
> Lady Spritzy  
> (Originally) 2/23/13


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

All day Zoro had been trying in vain to chip away at his teacher's words. It was nearing sunset, and he still lacked a sufficient answer. The young man sat quietly on the floor of the dining room, turning Ichimonji over in his hands repeatedly as he gazed out the windows. On the horizon, he could see where the clouds started to break, like shreds of crimson velvet, while over the island loomed the usual gray mush.

For the past week, the swordsman had been cooped up inside. All of the doors had been locked during the night, and Zoro was unwilling to break any windows. On the first few days, he had thought it strange, but not worrying. However, when he finally asked Mihawk about it, his teacher had only responded that it would be good for introspection. After that, the shichibukai was nowhere to be found.

Quietly, the young pirate set his sword aside and rose. His eyes were transfixed on the distant sky as he walked toward the window, entranced. He wondered how the rest of the crew was doing. Though their luck had taken a turn for the worse, Zoro was almost positive each of them had been as fortunate as him.

However, that didn't mean the Straw Hat swordsman thought he was out of the woods. Despite his improvements, Mihawk still easily outclassed him. Did the others have teachers like that? Were they as strict as the shichibukai? As taciturn?

Zoro furrowed his brows and paced the length of the dining hall, still struggling for his answer. He felt that each day of his captivity brought him no closer to what he sought, and he grew more and more restless each morning. As the sky grew dark, he strode back and forth, his heavy boots sounding a bass drum rhythm. The swordsman worked himself into something of a trance with his footsteps.

His mind wandered before blanking altogether. The clean slate allowed for new thoughts to float by, and Zoro considered each new idea like a judge scanning his courtroom. Memories resurfaced, new ideas came to light, but even these offered no satisfying answer to the pirate.

Finally, he stopped. His hand pressed against the cool window as he stared blankly at the massive doors. Vaguely, he noticed his body swaying for balance. Brows furrowed, Zoro gleaned the notion that the motion was important. His mouth dropped at the edges as he glared at the air, but his mind refused to yield the answer. Despite himself, he let it go.

With a hollow complaint from the glass, Zoro rested his head on the window pane. He could hear the trees groaning and leaves trying to shush them. The wind was cacophonous as usual, beating against the solid castle. Beneath his forehead, the windows buzzed. Again, the pirate frowned—something vital was there.

An annoyed grunt escaped the swordsman as he left the window. He trudged to Ichimonji and lifted her from the floor, tucking the blade away at his side. His gaze then turned toward the door, and the rest of him followed. Before he could make it into the hall, however, something sparked.

“Damn,” Zoro barked, turning on his heel and striding towards the fireplace. “Forgot to snuff it.”

He snagged his candle from the mantle place and lit it. In a second, he was on his way into the kitchen, his light held high. Without skipping a beat, he cleared the bottom stairs and strode to the far end of the room. Squatting in a dark corner was a fair sized cauldron, full of water, and beside it was a small, rusted cup. In one fluid movement, the pirate dipped the cup into the cauldron and removed it in a rush of water.

Zoro turned and left the dark kitchen. The fire grumbled in its cage as he approached and set his candle aside. Gently, he pulled droplets from the cup and sprinkled the burning logs. Like a snake, the blaze complained, but the swordsman ignored the agonized hiss as he smothered the light. When it was nothing but thin smoke and ashy logs, he set the cup on the mantle and regained his candle.

Again, he turned to leave. In the dim light, his footfalls were magnified. The wind outside seemed much more demanding, and Zoro could not help but stop and lend an ear to it. It slammed through the trees and against the castle, forcing another rattle out of the windows. The pirate bit his lip a little, as though trying to clamp down on the relevant thought this scene posed.

With an annoyed grunt, he left the dining hall. In his hand, the tiny flame flickered in time with his gait. The shadows swung lazily back and forth in a steady way. Ichimonji gently tapped the wall each time her master put his left foot forward.

In the dark, Zoro easily found his room, just as he had left it that morning. Quietly, he set the candle on the tiny bedside table and plopped down on the bed, just missing his two swords that already lay there. A tired sigh whistled out of his mouth as he kicked his boots off. Instinctively, he removed Ichimonji and set his three swords aside as a unit.

Within minutes of laying his head down, he was asleep.

The pirate dreamed of nothing in particular for a while, and only had the dim sensation of combat. His body felt like it was surrounded by tight-packed cotton. After a bit of flailing, he freed himself from the constricting weight and only then did a thought surface.

Zoro found himself dreaming of a small, isolated stretch of beach. The high sun's reflection shimmered on the rhythmically breaking waves, and the thick, salted breeze filled his lungs. He was perched atop a massive boulder, gazing out at the horizon from the feathery shade of a palm. His breathing matched the waves, as did his heartbeat.

The breeze played with the palm leaves, which in turn teased at the young man's hair. He brushed the fronds away as his thoughts focused on the steady beat. Around him, the world seemed to move in that singular rhythm. It moved slowly, with the methodical waves that echoed across the rocks. However, these were not the only things affected. How the palm tree swayed back and forth, and how the sun glimmered on the horizon, also moved to this underlying beat.

Again, the fronds brushed at the swordsman, tickling his shoulder. He grumbled and swatted them away—after all, he was on to something.

Zoro rose, walking towards the water and letting the cool waves engulf his feet. He felt them tugging at him in time with his balance, and he swayed with the wind. The gentle ebb and flow of it all was calming and consuming.

“That's it!” the pirate exclaimed, surging awake. Zoro quickly flexed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs underneath him. As he did, his foot connected solidly with something. “The hell?” he muttered, blinking and trying to acclimate his eyes to the dark. After a moment, he noticed a tall figure looming at the foot of his bed. “Ghost girl?” he murmured, peering into the shadows.

For a while, there was no response. Just as Zoro started to recognize the figure, it spoke.

“No, Roronoa.”

“The fuck'd you get here?”

“I was simply... passing through.”

The young pirate tried to shake himself awake.

“Why were you in here then?”

A silent second passed before the shichibukai answered.

“I was confirming that you were still in the castle.”

Zoro snorted. “How the hell could I leave? You're the only one with the keys.”

“There are a multitude of windows.”

“And you'd kill me if I broke 'em.”

Mihawk considered this before responding. “I would not kill someone over something so trifling.”

“Didn't you destroy a fleet of ships for disrupting your nap once?”

With raised eyebrows, the shichibukai stared at his student. It took him a moment to respond. “You seemed rather ecstatic about something when you woke,” he digressed. “What was it?”

It took the young pirate a moment to realize what his teacher was asking. “Oh! I know the answer to your question.”

“You do? What do you believe the answer to be, then?”

“It's rhythm, right? That's what connects everything?”

Mihawk was silent for a moment. “How does it do so?”

For a quiet while, Zoro tried to gather his response. He wanted to make sure he could explain it. If Mihawk hadn't been able to see him, he would have thought his student had fallen asleep again.

“Since each thing has a rhythm,” the student started slowly, “it has to find a way to fit its rhythm in with everything else.” He thought of Brooke, and all the amazing instruments the skeleton was able to play. “When the rhythms fit together, everything works.”

“So what happens when they don't?”

Zoro shook his head. “That's just it, though. They always are.”

“I beg to differ,” Mihawk replied, his voice flat.

The younger pirate thought for a moment. “There's disaster?”

“That's one way to put it, yes. Things break apart when the rhythm is not there, or does not agree from thing to thing.” The shichibukai thought a bit. “I would like you to reflect upon a swordsman's use for such rhythms.” Without a word, he departed from his student, who quickly fell back asleep.

* * *

The warlord was unable to sleep, and come dawn, he had already showered, groomed himself, and eaten. He spent his time stalking the corridors, wondering exactly how he was going to face his student. During the course of the night, he had contemplated this, and though many ideas surfaced, he was not sure which course of action to take.

Mihawk considered keeping his emotions under tight lock and key—after all, this would be exceptional practice. However, considering his track record over the past month, he doubted that method would work. He considered simply allowing himself fantasies, but he figured they would exacerbate the situation to intolerable levels. There was always the chance of kicking both of them out, but Roronoa would protest, and Mihawk was unsure if he would be able to say no to him forever.

He had considered telling the boy a half-truth, something that could convey his emotions just as much as conceal them. The shichibukai was learned enough, he could easily tinker the words together in such a fashion. Though the solution was alluring, he knew a half-truth would only get him so close to release. The pull required something from Roronoa just as much as it required something from Mihawk.

Telling the whole truth was out of the question. It was a crap shoot, and Mihawk was not one for taking such a gamble.He risked his reputation, though he cared little for what people thought of his sexual orientation, as well as maiming himself emotionally. Not to mention what may become of a shichibukai aligning with a regular pirate.

Mihawk checked himself. Roronoa was no regular pirate, that much was clear. Regular pirates could never dream of getting this deep under his skin. To be fair, even the exceptional pirates that made up Roronoa's crew could not get such a handle on him emotionally. It was just the swordsman. Perhaps one other man in the world could preform the feat, and they had parted ways on this matter years ago.

That did not solve the problem at hand though, and it surely did not ease Mihawk's conscience any.

Slowly, he made his way towards the dining hall, wondering if his guests were already at breakfast. He imagined the charred food Perona would cook, could smell the burnt musk of it, and his mouth twitched ever so slightly downwards. He would rather Rorona have better prepared meals, but it would reveal too much of the sword master's inner thoughts.

Or perhaps it would reveal just enough.

With new-found haste, Mihawk surged through the halls, turning deftly this way and that until he reached the dining hall. To his surprise—and relief—he found the hall empty. Briskly, he made his way down into the kitchen, flicking on several burners as he went. Pans clattered into place, and before long, he had breakfast well underway.

While he was ducking in the fridge to see if he still had milk, Mihawk heard an indignant voice behind him.

“Why do you need all this food?”

The shichibukai stood, having concluded that all of the milk was gone. He silently passed Perona, who floated and glared at him. He continued tending the food, ignoring her as he thought of how to best present the meal.

“Hey, is any of this for me?” Perona asked, eying one of the burners that Mihawk was not currently on top of.

Again, he pretended that he had not heard her as he began to transport food from pans to plates.

“Are you even listening?” the ghost girl demanded, appearing directly in front of the warlord. Her head stuck up out of the stove as she grabbed his attention.

“What do you want?” Mihawk asked, his skin crawling in irritation.

“Some food I didn't have to bust my ass cooking,” she replied, folding her arms high.

“That's a shame, then,” the swordsman retorted, “This isn't for you.”

The girl eyed the feast prepared. “There's no way in hell you're eating all of that.”

Mihawk thought for a moment. As much as he disliked her, he had to admit that there was something of a brain in her. If he told her, it would be more than likely she would pick up on his intentions. He decided silence was best—after all, she was the last person on this island he had to answer to.

Perona felt differently.

“You're not giving it to Zoro, are you?” she asked, a somewhat desperate whine in her voice no matter how she tried to disguise it. Mihawk said nothing, but she managed to draw a conclusion. “You are, aren't you?”

“What I do with the food I make is none of your business,” he responded, gathering the last of the plates to take upstairs.

“What, you'll feed him but you won't even feed me? What kind of host are you?” the princess barked. Mihawk responded with his own level, golden-eyed stare.

“I am the host that has yet to kick out his unwanted guest.”

For a moment, the ghost girl did nothing but float, fuming silently. The shichibukai turned, plates balanced delicately on his arms and hands. Not a single one of his muscles twitched without his control. He mounted the stairs without difficulty, and gingerly set the plates upon the table.

An icy chill shot through his core, pushing from his mind all thoughts but those of his inadequacy. Vaguely, he noticed a flash of white streak through him. His legs wobbled, and gravity forced him into a chair. His composure had fled, and he could not find it in himself to even look up.

There was no way in the world his plan would have worked. Roronoa was much too young to be interested in someone Mihawk's age, and that was assuming the boy could be coerced into a homosexual relationship. That was completely ignoring the fact that the younger pirate was there to learn how to kill his teacher. Not to mention their time together was excruciatingly limited. He mused on the shortcomings of his desires, completely ignoring Perona as she crept into the dining hall and had her fill of the meal prepared.

* * *

Zoro slept soundly, waking long after dawn. Like he usually did, he woke slowly, his brain coming to terms with the world around him at its own pace. Leisurely, he rose and stretched. Through the window, the sun cast its rays, allowing the light to play off of the swordsman's naked torso.

From somewhere down the hall, he heard Perona's footfalls on the way to the dining room. Food sounded pretty good, even if it was her burnt cuisine. From the chair squatting at the foot of his bed he removed his shirt, and from the bedside table he lifted his haramaki. Only once they were situated did he gather his swords and settle them on his hip like a bird settling its feathers.

He exited the room, his mind rehearsing the answers that had come to him in sleep. The young swordsman's fingers traced over the walls as he walked, his entire body numb to the outside world. Only when his fingers passed the familiar wood of the dining hall door did his mind return. He opened the doors wide, his gaze instantly snapping to Mihawk.

Something seemed wrong to the young swordsman, but he couldn't guess what. Out of instinct, his hand rested on Ichimonji as he stepped cautiously forward. Perona sat at the table, far from the shichibukai as she heartily ate the meal before her. It took a little bit before he could see the condition of the food.

The spread on the table was obviously well thought-out and carefully laid, and the cook had to have been skilled. Zoro eyed Mihawk, curious as to why he had prepared such a meal, but his teacher refused to meet his gaze. Quietly, the young pirate scanned the table.

Though there was an empty plate before the shichibukai, Zoro didn't dare touch it, and instead, he hastened towards the kitchen for his own dining ware. As he returned, he noticed that Mihawk had vanished.

“Where'd he go?” Zoro asked Perona as he settled into a chair. The princess shrugged nonchalantly as she helped herself to another mouthful of seasoned fish.

“Probably went to sulk some more,” she said once her mouth was clear. “Very uncute.”

The swordsman gave her a confused look but said nothing as he got some food for himself. After a quiet moment of eating, Zoro decided to ask another question.

“Why'd he cook this for us?”

Perona shot him an indignant glare. “Like hell he cooked this for us. I did.”

Zoro snorted, nearly choking on his food. “Bullshit.”

“What?” Perona's eyes narrowed, and behind her wavered one of her ghosts. Zoro returned the look with an unimpressed stare of his own.

“There's no way in hell you made this,” he repeated, tensing.

“Yes I did,” she yelled, jumping to her feet as her chair screeched back. A second and third ghost appeared, hovering dangerously close.

The swordsman rose slowly, not quite towering above the girl, but making up for it in the way he carried himself. Gently, his hand rested on his swords as his mind considered just how fast those ghosts might move. It was obvious Perona was thinking something along the same lines, her eyes wavering slightly. Muscles barely twitched as the two of them inspected one another.

With a creak, the doors opened, and Mihawk strode in. His bearing seemed off just a bit, and his face seemed a little more pale than usual. Both of the quarreling party turned towards him as he entered despite this. Zoro could have sworn Perona flinched slightly. Silently, the shichibukai took his place at the head of the table, his eyes not making contact with either of his guests. From where Zoro stood, he could see that Mihawk's hair was damp around his face.

Though curious, the younger swordsman sat down without a word.

In silence, Zoro and Perona ate, the latter taking the occasional chance to glare at the former. All the while, Mihawk ignored them, choosing instead to stare into space.

As the late breakfast disappeared one plate at a time, and after Perona had departed, Zoro finally addressed his teacher.

“Where would you like me to start?”

Mihawk looked at him, his eyes unfocused slightly for a moment. Then, as if waking, his eyes locked onto his student's. To Zoro, something seemed off about the gaze. He was not about to speculate, though.

“Wherever you think it appropriate,” came the response. Something was wrong with Mihawk's voice, as well. The reverberating timbre wasn't quite as strong as it normally was.

Zoro thought for a moment. “We decided that rhythm is what holds things together,” he started, carefully observing his teacher's face, “and when that rhythm falls apart, so does the world.”

“Not quite the entire world,” Mihawk responded, “Just the part that de-synchronizes.”

“Well, when it does fall out of rhythm,” the student continued, “it falls apart, right?”

“In a way, it does.”

“Well, a swordsman should be able to find those rhythms, and know how to work with them.”

Either it was a trick of the light, or some of the pallor had returned to the shichibukai's face.

“But what exactly does this result in?” Mihawk asked, his eyes regaining their piercing quality.

“Doesn't it result in being able to cut whatever I want?”

“Exactly.” The elder swordsman seemed to sit up straighter, regaining his natural height and bearing.

“I already know how to do that,” Zoro explained, his hand and swords ready to demonstrate. Mihawk shook his head.

“That is not something you prove in the dining hall,” he replied calmly, the deep resonance returned to his voice. “And that is all for now.”

Steadily, Mihawk rose, removing from his pocket a ring of ancient keys. He turned to leave the room, bidding his student to follow. Zoro opened his mouth, but before he could ask his question, his teacher shook his head. The two of them exited the dining hall, with Mihawk leading the way towards the main gates.

They arrived without hindrance, and passed through the doors silently once Mihawk had opened them. The mid-afternoon sun shone through the clouds, brightening the dark faces of the two men. Slight winds played around the two of them, tugging at the loose fabrics that clothed each. The elder led his student through the ruins in silence, the former's mood restored enough to the point where he could not look Roronoa in the face.

Only once they were in a wide courtyard did Mihawk stop and turn to face his student.

“Rhythm is key to much of life, combat included. Not only does recognizing the rhythms of things around us allow us to cut what we wish and leave other things unscathed, but it also allows the skilled fighter to see and predict patterns in combat. Knowledge of battle rhythms allows the combatant to ebb and flow with battle tides, and allows us to predict incoming onslaughts. True masters of these rhythms can even grasp precognitive haki.”

Zoro thought a moment, glancing around the deserted courtyard.

“How do I learn more?” he asked. A slim smile crossed Mihawk's face.

“Sit and listen. Come nightfall, you can return to the castle. I want you to do this for at least an hour and a half every day after breakfast, unless I assign you another task. Is that clear?”

Without answering, the younger pirate sat and closed his eyes, his hands resting gently in his lap. Silently, Mihawk strode back towards the castle.

* * *

Perona was pawing through the library, bored out of her skull. Many of the books were uninteresting—dusty old tomes recounting history or science, pieces in any multitudes of languages, or thick works so dry they could be classified as deserts. She was having trouble finding any romance or mystery novels in her native tongue, and after a while she began to wonder if all the pieces she would enjoy were specifically in other languages for the sole purpose of annoying her.

In a huff, she made her way towards the exit. Before her, the doors banged open, and she was down the hall at a rapid pace. She vaguely wondered at the time, but decided it was unimportant. After a while, she had come across her own quarters, and had settled down for just a moment before a shadow fell across her door.

Fully garbed and tall standing, Mihawk filled the doorway. His golden eyes just barely caught light from her candle. Though he seemed relaxed, Perona still felt the weight of his presence. For a while, he said nothing, and under the shichibukai's gaze she grew uneasy.

“Those ghosts are rather powerful,” Mihawk finally admitted, his face unchanging.

Perona was struck dumb.

“However, that does not change the fact that you are to make your own meals,” he continued. “You need to improve just as Roronoa does.”

“I didn't ask for this,” she whined, having found her voice.

“That is not my concern.”

“But–”

“I do not remember inviting either of you into my home.”

Perona glared. Behind her, a ghost loomed. This time, Mihawk was ready.

“Put me under that spell again, and you had best be willing to forfeit sleep for the duration of your stay.”

He swept away from the room.

After a moment, the girl poked her head out into the hallway, but was unable to see the older pirate. A frown briefly crossed her face as she stepped outside. She peered into Zoro's room and gazed outside, where the sky was heading on to late afternoon.

With a scowl, she tromped off down the hall in the opposite direction that she had seen Mihawk go. All the while, she muttered to herself about being a slave and nanny and prisoner. She complained about all sorts of things, but mostly she lamented her situation after Moirah's fall. It was not like she had chosen to become isolated here, though isolation seemed superior to the threats she received.

After clunking up the stairs, Perona looked through tall, grimy glass doors onto a balcony that she had passed before but never investigated. She opened the creaking door and stepped outside, the stone underneath her more stable than the weathered rock in the courtyard.

Despite her foul mood, she had to admit she liked the fresh, salty air. She leaned on the balcony's railing, her arms folded across it. For a while, she thought of nothing as she calmed. The sun worked its way towards the horizon to the sound of distant waves, broken up by the occasional screech of apes. A smile crossed the girl's face. This shichibukai was no god like some would think. He was just as susceptible to her ghosts as any other person. After all, Moriah had been, though Perona had never been foolish enough to repeat that mistake.

A thought came to mind, and her smile turned into a smirk. From her body slid a ghost, and through its eyes she looked at herself, like two mirrors reflecting into infinity. The girl closed her eyes—doing that with a ghost for too long gave her migraines.

Silently, the specter slipped off, passing mostly through the mortar of the castle. It was a trick she had picked up quickly after she gained her ability, and it served her well since. Every so often, the ghost poked an eye into whatever room or hall was close by. Once she had her bearing, Perona would return the ghost to the wall and carry on.

It was well into the night before Perona found what she was after—Mihawk's sleeping quarters. Somehow, the spartan nature of the room did not surprise her. With almost no effort she split the sentry ghost into four, hiding each one in the walls. Only once they were settled to her satisfaction did she open her eyes again. Though she was used to the double vision granted by the specters, it always took her a moment to come completely back to herself.

Perona stared up into the night sky, a slim smile on her face. Something about spying lit a fire in her, especially if she could get some juicy blackmail material out of it. Perhaps she would keep a ghost on Mihawk at all times. There was an idea she could get behind.

She turned and went back inside, and before long she had returned to her room. As she fell asleep, her senses blended completely with the ghosts watching the shichibukai. Though the night stretched long and Mihawk did not wake until morning, Perona knew patience would be key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Still working on getting this caught up with my ff.net account)
> 
> No apologies, no regrets, no excuses. I hope you enjoyed, hopefully there will be another soon. Thanks again so much to my beta Wild Rhov for her diligent work :DD  
> As I Am,  
> Lady Spritzy  
> 7/9/14


	7. Chapter 6

** Chapter 6 **

"I saw that."

Zoro's face contorted in annoyance. He'd been stuck in the courtyard all day, inching towards the castle doors. Progress was painfully slow, as each time Mihawk noticed movement, he forced Zoro a step backwards. The young swordsman was not even halfway to the door. He planted one foot squarely behind himself before bringing his feet together. At this rate, it would be the next morning before he went inside.

The day had also been one of the rare, sunlit ones. As such, the courtyard had become a sauna so overwhelmingly hot Zoro had removed his shirt—at the cost of several receding steps, of course. As the afternoon wore on, he knew the sacrifice had been worth it. Mihawk, however, was fully garbed and had not moved once from his perch, not even to remove his coat. Despite his curiosity, Zoro did not dare to ask the shichibukai about it.

During his crawl, Zoro tacitly considered his lesson. Mihawk had told him that subtlety in the muscles translated to subtlety in the blade. He had mentioned something about the grains of sand making up the lengthy beach and how small movements could create massive events. Zoro could see credibility in the statement. He could easily agree with it. Those facts did not make him any less irritated with his Sisyphean task.

Night had fallen before Zoro hit the halfway mark. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Mihawk just wanted to make him suffer—even if that didn't necessarily seem in keeping with the sword master's normal behavior.

His mind drifted as he slowly, silently moved. He wondered about the rest of the crew as he often did these days. He wondered just how much progress he could make in two years—he'd already progressed a bit during his stay so far. He reminisced about his home, far away on some insignificant island that would be nigh impossible for him to relocate on his own. He thought about the Sunny and just how it was going to stay safe by itself. He even reflected on what lessons he had already learned, and wondered when he was going to get out of the more elementary teachings. Zoro wondered if Mihawk was ever going to teach him anything useful.

It was several more tedious steps backwards before Zoro's hand rested on the door, though he was hesitant to open it. He felt himself tense, more wound up than he had been all day, as he stood at the threshold. Quiet footsteps approached. Zoro didn't dare turn his head for fear of being sent back another step.

"We will start again in the morning. Go get some sleep," Mihawk said quietly, holding the door open.

Zoro gave a small grunt in recognition and ambled through the entrance, somehow finding his way back to his room. He passed out, too tired to pay his complaining stomach attention. Like a sack of concrete he dropped upon his bed. No dreams bothered him, and he woke to the sound of Mihawk's voice.

"Come. Breakfast is ready. When you've finished eating, you'll cross the courtyard again."

Getting dressed and fed blurred together, and Zoro found himself only truly awake once he stepped into the stark morning air. He quietly crossed to the far side as Mihawk once more took up his perch. After a moment's thought, the young swordsman decided it would probably be best to go shirtless the whole time, just in case.

Without a word to Mihawk, he began the agonizing crawl. The day plodded along, but Zoro considered himself lucky that the sun was blocked by the usual overcast. Over the course of the day he had to retreat eighteen steps, and again it was well into the night before the two men retired. They kept this routine for days, with Zoro making better and better time. After a week or so, Mihawk started giving him goals: make it before sundown, before evening, before noon. Nearly a month after he had started the exercise, Zoro could make the crawl in an hour, leaving his afternoons free for other exercises.

Despite his progress, however, Zoro felt like he was failing at something. Mihawk had become increasingly scarce throughout the month. On the rare occasion the young pirate did come across his teacher, the older man was silent. Something about his behavior put Zoro on edge, but there was little he could do about it. Instead, Zoro threw himself wholly into the tasks he had already been given until they were second nature. The distraction worked for a while, but it was only a temporary fix.

One morning, Zoro stood before the dining hall doors, unwilling to enter. Just on the other side he heard the screech of Perona's anger and the muffled quietness of Mihawk's reply. They were probably arguing over who was going to cook breakfast again—one fight Zoro was surprised to see Perona still starting. He wavered a little bit, debating silently if he really wanted to talk to his fleeting teacher that badly.

Perona yelled accusingly, "You were totally muttering his name in your sleep."

For a moment, Zoro stood dumbly outside the door. His mind worked without working, and he decided that he did not need to speak with Mihawk that badly. He left in silence, mind still numb. It was only after he made it outside that his brain function returned.

The first thing Zoro noticed was that his teacher was not present. Perhaps the older swordsman was still at breakfast. Zoro was in no hurry to find out, and instead sat at the far end of the courtyard, listening to the world around him. By noon, Mihawk had still not arrived, and Zoro decided to do the crawl himself. Once done, he made a beeline for the dining hall but only found Perona.

Despite his curiosity, the young swordsman did not ask Perona about what she had said earlier. He ate quietly, giving no indication as to what he had overheard. The princess, on the other hand, had a sly glint in her eye but said nothing. Just as Zoro was on his way out, she stopped him.

"Why weren't you at breakfast this morning? I busted my ass making it." Her voice seemed off. Instead of being harsh and accusatory, it was slick, perhaps even sweet or worried. It reminded him of Nami when he had first met her. That kind of voice put him on edge.

"I wasn't hungry," he replied.

"Really? Then it wasn't you I saw standing outside this morning?"

Zoro's eyes narrowed. "You saying you're spying on me?"

"Of course not," Perona replied, putting her hands up defensively, "But you're not very quiet."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Sure you weren't." She left without another word but gave him a knowing glance on her way out.

A while after Perona left Zoro followed suit. He meandered the dim halls, partly wanting to find Mihawk and ask him about the argument and partly wanting to be left with his thoughts. As he walked, he encountered no one, but he had the prickly feeling of being watched. Alone with the walls, portraits, and his lone candle, he found his mind becoming blank. He moved because it was better than being still. Only after he mounted the library stairs did he realize where he was.

He halted briefly, glancing about for signs of life. The room seemed desolate save for his flickering candle. Something was still off though. Something was watching him, like it had been in the hall. Zoro's brow furrowed, and he slowly descended the stairs. His arms prickled as he inspected the lower floor, trying to find the source of his unease. Once more he mounted the stairs and began investigating the second story.

From below, a gentle creak sounded. Muffled footsteps rose, and Zoro poked his head over the balcony. Mihawk made a beeline for his normal, out-of-the-way desk, seemingly unaware of Zoro's presence. The young swordsman wanted to call out and ask about his teacher's behavior, but he could not find it in himself to do so.

After a moment of silent debate, he descended the stairs again. Each footfall was hollow and heavy, and sunk into his stomach. He thought about what he was going to say, what question was best to ask. Mihawk did not look up as he approached.

"Why weren't you in the courtyard this morning?"

Mihawk kept his eyes on his book. "Do you need me to watch you constantly like a child?"

"No, but you've been watching me every other time. I thought it was to keep me honest."

Golden eyes glanced up before hastily returning to the page before them. "You don't need me for that any longer."

"So you're just going to abandon me?"

Mihawk stayed silent.

"You took me in as your student. You agreed to train me. So far, what have I learned? Jack shit, that's what! Everything you've taught me won't do me any good out on the Grand Line. If you're fucking with me just so I won't have a chance to beat you when the time comes, I swear I'll—"

"Kill me?" The shichibukai rose, his face a mask. "I thought you were here because you were incapable of doing so. Any threats you make along those lines are useless."

"If you're not going to teach me, why the hell am I still here?"

"You came of your own accord. If you honestly have so little faith in me, perhaps you should go."

Zoro swayed a bit, his fists clenched. "No. You promised to teach me, and that's what you're going to do." For a moment Mihawk stood silent, eying his student. Before he could respond, however, Zoro posed his burning question. "The ghost girl said you were muttering someone's name in your sleep. Who's?"

The shichibukai seemed to pale in the faint light. It was a moment before he responded. "Get out."

"No."

"Now, Roronoa," he barked, louder than Zoro had ever heard him. The young swordsman kept his ground.

"No. Why've you been ditching me during my lessons? This sure as hell isn't the first time you've done it."

"Out."

"Not until you answer."

Zoro stuck his face in Mihawk's, glaring up at him. The two men held each other's gaze solidly, neither willing to give quarter. The young pirate could feel his heart thumping viciously, and his entire frame burned with adrenaline. He thought he saw his teacher shaking. He ignored it.

"What do you think of me, Roronoa?" The shichibukai's voice was nigh inaudible, and it trembled. His eyes did not waiver.

"I look up to you." Zoro's response was quiet. "What's happened to you?"

"You have. Now get out."

* * *

Mihawk only released his breath when the door shut quietly behind his student. He instantly regretted everything he had just said. Frustration had taken hold of him, and in its embrace he had confessed everything he had planned on keeping secret.

Ever since he woke that morning, he knew the day was going to be sour. His dreams had been unpleasant, as they had been after his incident with Perona's ghost. Breakfast had been a fiasco, especially after she had confronted him—her lie about 'accidentally' stumbling upon him was unconvincing. Apparently, Zoro had overheard. Mihawk wondered if the girl had planned the whole thing.

He sat wearily at his desk. Some part of him was relieved that his feelings were exposed, while the rest of him tensed. His pride was maimed. The facade he had kept for so long was shattered. The raw part of him vowed never to look the young pirate in the eyes again. The tug in his gut clenched painfully.

The sun was long gone before the shichibukai looked out the curtains. He had only risen because of exhaustion. In silence, he plodded back to his chambers, slipping into sleep without bothering to undress or cover himself with the bedclothes. His sleep was troubled, and he woke on no less than eight occasions before he gave up and rose.

The shichibukai did not bother with breakfast; instead, he made his way to the main courtyard. There was no doubt in his mind that he could not undo what he had said, but perhaps he could at least repair the damage somewhat. Maybe this was what he needed to get on with his life.

Perched upon his usual wall, Mihawk rose his face to the sky and breathed deeply. The air outside the castle, though less oppressive, still filled the lungs in a damp way. He closed his eyes, listening for the ocean and wind and occasional complaint from a humandrill. His mind cleared, allowing him to focus on his problem.

A quiet squeal came from the door, followed by steady footfalls. Mihawk remained still. There were eyes on him, of that he had no doubt, but his student remained quiet. The world beyond went on like normal.

"What do you want me to do today?" Zoro's voice seemed unsure. The tone hit Mihawk in the gut.

"I want you to show me the fruit of your labors over the past month," he replied, not opening his eyes, "Go get your blades." Once Zoro was inside, Mihawk let out his breath. He could feel his stomach lurch in a longing way, but he remained where he was. As he waited, he removed Kogatana from around his neck and held the small blade loosely in his hand. Zoro returned shortly, and only then did his teacher look at him. "Do you remember the day you and I met?"

The student's brow furrowed slightly. "Yeah, I remember."

"Do you remember what I told you then about the importance of subtlety?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Show me what you've learned."

With ease, Mihawk slid off the wall and landed gracefully. Though he seemed relaxed, his muscles were taut and his eyes keen. Student reflected teacher as the former settled his blades.

Zoro struck first, his swords shimmering in the dim light. Mihawk moved easily out of the way, deflecting a slash from his side. He retaliated, lashing out and nicking his student's ear before stepping out of another attack. They went back and forth for a while, a fighting tomcat and panther swiping at each other. Each attack Zoro made was either dodged or countered. One by one, his blades were struck from his hands, clattering far from their master's grasp. He bled from several razor cuts. Mihawk was unscathed.

"You're improving," the teacher commented, "but your movements are still too clumsy. I want you to practice moving with your blades like you've been crossing this courtyard." Zoro turned to retrieve his blades, but Mihawk stopped him. "Tomorrow. For now, we need to get you cleaned up."

The student gave him a confused look as he settled his swords. "Why? They're just nicks."

"Some of the smallest wounds hurt us the greatest," Mihawk replied, removing a small cloth from his coat and deftly cleaning Kogatana.

Zoro just shrugged and headed towards the castle, his teacher just behind him. They entered without a word and traversed the main hall in silence. As they came to the hub of hallways, the shichibukai bid his student follow him. The hall they entered was one Zoro had never bothered with, but it seemed no different from the others. Though there were no lights, Mihawk knew his way, and Zoro followed by sound. Before too long, they had stopped and lit a candle to reveal a small washroom.

The first thing that Zoro noticed was that this room was superior to the one he frequented. The faucet seemed to be ornately carved, and the cistern was of reddish granite. The mirror behind it was full-body and beautifully decorated. Gently, Mihawk set the candle down upon one of the several stands around the room and stood back from the sink. As Zoro washed the blood from his face and arms, his teacher rummaged through the cabinet behind him.

"Here," he said, offering a small, glass jar with a silver lid. "This salve is quite useful for healing cuts."

Zoro opened it carefully and looked inside. "You don't use this very often, do you?"

"Not anymore."

With a shrug, Zoro smeared some of the amber-hued cream on his arms, gently rubbing the salve into his minor wounds. As he started on his face, he glanced in the mirror.

"Damn," he mumbled, "Started bleeding from this one again."

Before Zoro had time to tend the cut, Mihawk turned his student's face around to inspect the small amount of blood oozing down his face. With a thumb, the master swordsman wiped the ruddy droplet away, and thoughtlessly licked it off. In the moment before he realized what he had done, he focused on the taste of it—was it sweeter than most? Zoro's eye caught his and brought him back to himself.

"That was more efficient than dirtying one of my washcloths," he lied swiftly. Zoro bought the excuse and continued.

Once the young man finally coated all his wounds, he returned the jar to his teacher. As Mihawk replaced the salve, his mind tried to think of ways to extend his time alone with his student. Though nothing came to mind exactly, Zoro gave him an excuse.

"I never come down this way. Where are we?"

"This is the northern wing of the castle. Below are the dungeons, and above are the more lavish sleeping quarters. I believe the monarchs that lived here before used them as their apartments."

"Is that where you sleep?"

"Pardon?"

"Do you sleep in the king's bedroom?"

Mihawk raised an eyebrow. Was this an invitation, or just innocent questioning? It was more likely the latter, but in the slim chance it was the former...

"Are you really that interested in where I sleep?" he asked, probing.

"Kinda. I pretty much never see you except for during lessons or at dinner."

"You've found me in the library before."

"You're not always there when I look."

Mihawk thought for a moment. He still felt that Zoro was not quite aware of what he was saying, what he was doing. "You're absolutely certain you want to see my sleeping quarters?"

"Might as well."

"Very well. Come along."

The two of them left the room, with Mihawk grabbing the candle on his way out. He swept down the hall, Zoro in his wake. They passed in silence. The shichibukai's thoughts tortured him, berating him for the mistake he was making. He was committed, though, and could not stop the avalanche. They came to a winding stairwell and descended. The air grew more musty as they went, and before long they reached the bottom.

"You sleep in the dungeons?" Zoro asked skeptically. Somehow, he found he was only mildly surprised.

"I find it's harder to be harassed in the middle of the night if you sleep somewhere unexpected."

"Sure."

They strode abreast down the hall, Mihawk running his hands over the doors. Although he knew which one was his from years of living in the castle, he did not trust himself enough to remember with his mind so cluttered. He halted once he felt the familiar carving.

"This one," he said quietly, swinging the door inward. He stepped back to allow his student room to look.

Boldly, Zoro stepped inside. His eyes were automatically drawn to Kokuto Yoru, who hung majestically by her master's bedside. Like a magnet, she drew him forward until he stood before her, hypnotized. Meekly, his hand approached, stopping inches from the intricate hilt.

"You may touch Yoru," Mihawk said, closing the door quietly behind him, "She will not bite."

Zoro looked to his teacher, a somewhat relieved smile on his face. "Thanks. I was always taught to not handle another's weapon without their permission."

"A wise policy. Your former teacher must have been accomplished."

Zoro shrugged. "Not really. He had a school, yeah, but he wasn't famous for his swordsmanship."

"Fame for being good with a blade is not always the boon you would think."

"You would know, huh." He returned his attention to Yoru.

Quietly, Mihawk drew a key from the table beside the door. He stood a moment, key in hand, his eyes on his student. Vaguely, he wondered if he were being toyed with, being tested. His mouth twitched down at the corner in annoyance. The door locked with a tiny click. Mihawk kept his gaze on Zoro for any indication that he may have heard. There was none.

"So," the shichibukai said quietly as his student rose. "Why is it so necessary you know where my room is?"

Zoro faced his teacher, a somewhat stern look on his face. "In case you abandon me in the middle of a lesson again. That way I can make you honor your promise."

Mihawk cocked an eyebrow. Perhaps there was hope. "And just how would you plan on forcing me to do anything?"

The younger pirate had a quick answer. "You're honorable. All I'd have to do is remind you of our agreement."

"You forget I'm also a pirate. I'm not that honorable."

"You're a swordsman first."

Something snapped in Mihawk. He loomed over his student, stepping forward quietly but with the aura of a wolf. He advanced slowly, his eyes in full command of Zoro's. The younger man could not retreat if he wanted. Yoru pressed into his back, cold and harsh.

"You overestimate me, Roronoa."

Before he could stop himself, Mihawk swooped in and snatched his student's mouth, catching him by surprise. The younger man did not struggle out of shock, confusion, and worry that repelling the shichibukai would anger him. To the elder, the reality was greater than any dream. Metallic, salty musk filled his nose and heat invited him closer. He wanted more, wanted a reaction.

With little resistance, Mihawk flicked Zoro's lips apart, his tongue delving inside. It was an exotic flavor, one he found he liked. Arms pushed against his chest and he resisted. The younger pirate's head jerked back, smacking into the wall. Mihawk flinched like he had been injured, breaking the kiss.

"Are you all right?" he asked, worry flashing across his face.

Zoro eyed him. "The hell was that?"

"Would you rather I not have used my tongue?"

"No! Why'd you?" he gestured violently, at a loss for words.

"You wanted to come into my personal chambers, asked to touch my weapon, flattered me, and threatened to force me to teach you, and you reject me?" The shichibukai barked indignantly, "Anyone could tell you that's an advance."

"No it wasn't. It was curiosity." Zoro scowled. "I didn't even know you were gay."

"I'm not."

They stood in tense silence, barely a foot of space between them. Zoro did not dare move despite Yoru biting into his back. Finally, he found his voice.

"This isn't why you agreed to teach me, is it? 'Cause I'm not interested."

Those words punched Mihawk in the gut. He could feel himself trembling. His eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped. "Don't ever insult me like that again." Mihawk took a step back, leaving a clear path between Zoro and the door. The young man looked from his teacher to the door, wondering what the trick was. Mihawk was silent.

Zoro approached the door without hindrance and again glanced at Mihawk. His face seemed to have leveled again, but something seemed off about his eyes. They didn't pierce like they normally did. However, his curiosity was far outweighed by how shaken up he was, and he tried the door. It refused to open.

"Oh," he mumbled, his fingers falling from the handle.

Silence descended again. Zoro stared into space, ignoring Mihawk's eyes on him. His mind jumbled, trying to find any hints and coming up with none. Neither man moved. They stood, divided in their joint prison. Somewhere in the distance, the sky complained like it often did. It was ignored. Finally, the shichibukai sat, leaning the bulk of his weight on his elbows and knees. The bed frame grumbled softly.

"Do you plan on staying?" Mihawk asked quietly, his voice hollow. He eyed the ground.

"Why would I leave?"

"You will not be staying for free any longer."

"What?"

Golden eyes looked up, trying to catch their target. It took a moment, but they succeeded. "You really don't realize what you've been doing to me the past few months, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Not even after I kissed you?"

"Honestly? No." Zoro turned to better face his teacher. "I just figured you were frustrated with me. That's not why you've been avoiding me?"

"It isn't." Mihawk found himself struggling with his words. Anything that came to mind seemed crude or wrong. Finally, he settled on something simple. "I might be in love with you."

"Might? Fuck, you have me locked in here because you might love me?"

"Would it make you more comfortable if my feelings were unambiguous?"

"Not really." Zoro thought a moment. "You're really not gay?"

"No, I've only ever been with women."

They remained still a moment, neither willing to look the other in the eye. In the distance, thunder crackled.

"So..." Zoro started, trailing off a bit before thinking of his question. "How long?"

"How long have I been attracted to you? A little while after you arrived here, I believe."

"Ah. Well." His confidence was returning. "I'm not interested. Let me out."

Mihawk looked up at his student, a longing look in his eye. For a while, neither man moved, and in the silence the shichibukai struggled for words that refused to come. He rose quietly and produced the small key. Zoro moved stiffly out of the way as the older pirate unlocked the door and stood back. By the way he walked, it was obvious the younger man could not be away fast enough. Mihawk gently shut the door and locked it.

* * *

Perona woke long after dawn. Her demeanor was cheery, and there was an obvious lightness to her step. The smile on her face was filled with malice, and her eyes twinkled in a sly fashion. She hummed quietly under her breath as she skipped toward the dining hall, her arms swinging jovially.

Yesterday had been kind to her.

The fight she started with Mihawk had been terrifying—for a moment, Perona worried for her life. It was worth it, though. For the rest of the day, she was left alone, free to meander, relax, and spy as she pleased. The only thing she could think of to make her life perfect would be someone to share her gossip with. After all, nothing was more interesting than a little bit of blackmail material.

For the first time in months, Perona was back in her element. It felt invigorating to have eyes everywhere, keeping silent, vigilant guard.

Although she was a little worried that she revealed herself a little too much to Mihawk, she ignored it. Today was going to be a good day. She would make sure of it.

Before her, the doors to the dining hall were flung wide, and in their wake she practically bounced into the room. Neither of the men were there, which dampened her mood only slightly. There would be time to revel in her work later. Bounding down the stairs, she figured a simple breakfast was best. Within minutes, she mounted the steps again, a lopsided sandwich on her plate. As she settled in to eat, the doors opened again.

Zoro did not even look at the table as he entered and spent an extended period in the kitchen before reemerging. He looked tired around the eyes but seemed to move with his normal swagger. With a clatter, he set his plate at his normal spot and sat.

"It's make-your-own today," Perona said brightly, gesturing with her half-eaten sandwich.

Zoro gave her a flat look. "Noticed," he grumbled, starting in on his own ill-conceived sandwich.

They sat in silence, their faces two opposite extremes. The swordsman hunched over his plate like a wolf protecting its kill. He ate slowly, going through the motions. Beside him, the princess was ready to burst from excitement, a young hummingbird ready to fly. Between each bite she gazed expectantly at the door.

Long after Perona was done, Mihawk entered. Like Zoro, he ignored the table altogether and descended without a word. To Perona, he looked a little paler than normal. She and Zoro watched the darkened stairwell intently, waiting in silence for the shichibukai to return.

Mihawk's footsteps preceded him, few and far between as they were. He held nothing in his hands. His face seemed mountainous. Deliberately, he approached the table. What little light there was caught him in the face as he stood opposite of his student. Perona was glad she'd spent his wrath yesterday.

"Roronoa, I need to speak with you." Mihawk looked to Perona. "In private." The princess nearly sprung out of her seat and sauntered around the table, passing close behind the elder swordsman. Like a viper, his hand shot out and bit into her upper arm. He spoke softly. "When I leave this room, you had best be in your quarters."

With a huff, Perona yanked her arm free and continued out the door. Despite her dour countenance, her whole frame rocked in a spirited way. As she left the dining hall, a ghost stayed behind. It slunk in through the floor, easing forward until it hid under the long table. The princess retreated to her room as she eavesdropped on the man who confined her there.

"So you're just not going to give me a choice in the matter." Zoro sounded skeptical, indignant.

"No, I'm not. You'll come to me when I call, or you—and that other pest—are to leave immediately."

"Kinda underhanded, isn't it?"

"You mistake me for a saint, Roronoa."

"I thought you were a sword master."

The room was silent a moment. Mihawk's voice seemed a little less steady. "I am also a pirate."

"So am I," Zoro barked, "Doesn't mean I blackmail my shipmates into sleeping with me."

"You should have thought of that before you begged me to teach you. Nothing comes for free, Roronoa, especially not my time."

"Yeah, 'cause I totally expected you to jump me like that."

"If you were in that situation with anyone else, you'd be far worse off." The shichibukai took a step toward the table. The specter beneath it inched away from him.

"With anyone else, I could fight back."

"Like I held you at swordpoint."

"Kinda did." With a screech, Zoro's chair jumped back. He strode from the table, his footsteps beating into the floor. The door grumbled open.

"Roronoa." By the door, the younger man stopped, facing the hall. Mihawk turned to face his student's back. "I will see you after dinner. Until then, carry on with your exercises as normal. You are dismissed."

With a resonating boom, the door shut. For a moment, Mihawk was still. The hidden ghost eased into the floor to return to its mistress. As it slunk from the room, the swordsman muttered, "If she's not in that room, we'll see how well she swims."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (One more to catch up :DD)
> 
> I'm proud to say I could get this out in a timely fashion! Thanks as always go to my lovely beta Rhov for all her help. She really helped me get my thoughts in order as to how the next couple of chapters are going to go, and hopefully that'll encourage me to continue these more timely releases.   
> Recently, I've been playint the One Piece:Unlimited World Red for 3DS (partly why this wasn't out as quickly as it could have been), and I've found it to be quite entertaining. I don't quite know how the PS3 version holds up, but if you're looking for a purchase to validated spending over $100 on a 3DS, it's not too bad. You should be caught up with the manga/anime, though, or not care about spoilers. (I recommend using a combo of Chopper/Sanji/Usopp for story mode, and Chopper/Ace for coliseum mode. Healers be OP in that game.)  
> As I Am,  
> Lady Spritzy  
> 8/3/14


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The gentle click of the latch settled in the heavy air as Zoro stood outside the door. He breathed in the stale must of the hall as he collected himself. Once steady, he headed back towards his room as though nothing was wrong, despite his disheveled appearance. With even strides, he mounted the stairs and was on his way down the hall towards his room.

Over the past few weeks, this had been the routine: after dinner, go with Mihawk to his quarters. Sometimes they talked. Often they made out. On two occasions the shichibukai had given him head, but never asked for it in return. They were never more intimate than that. Though it baffled Zoro that his teacher would go so far as to threaten him yet not demand sex, the young swordsman had to admit he was relieved that was the case.

As he clomped along, he turned his thoughts from his predicament and instead focused on his most recent lesson. Mihawk had told him that reactions came from the spine more than anything. Control of the back—both one's own and that of the enemy—is control of the battle. It was something Zoro inherently understood and had already been taught as a child. Why was he being taught what he already knew?

He returned silently to his room, gazing down at his swords as he sat. Mihawk refused to let his student come armed into his chambers, though Zoro doubted it would make much of a difference. After all, he could not learn from a dead man.

For a while he thought, his eyes locked on his swords in the dim night light. He wondered what his teacher's game was, a curiosity that had plagued him since this incident began. He wondered just how far Mihawk was going to go—just because he had not done anything yet did not mean he was incapable of it. He had Zoro's back, so to speak, and that was the worst of it. Of all the things he knew about Mihawk, he knew the shichibukai was honorable. Haughty at times—he could afford to be—but honorable. Blackmail was below him. Not only that, but he had been surprisingly on-edge lately, like a tightrope walker on barbed wire. It was a little disheartening to see someone he looked up to in such a vulnerable state. He could feel Mihawk's unease becoming his own.

He blew out his candle and lay down. For what felt like hours he stayed awake, his mind still running in circles. Annoyed with himself, he rose, heading barefoot and shirtless down the hall. Back and forth he paced, trying to figure a way out of his predicament—after all, he had no interest in Mihawk sexually or romantically. After a while of pacing, he returned to his room and gathered his swords before heading out into the night.

Cool breezes slipped past the swordsman as he strode across the main courtyard. They tousled his hair and tugged merrily at his pants, all the while sighing to the trees and stones. He passed silently through the massive, dilapidated arch that separated the castle from the rest of the ruins, his hand running over the smooth stones. As he meandered farther and farther from the looming structure, Zoro's mind kept working on the problem like a dog chewing leather.

What if Mihawk refused to let him leave when the two years was up? Would he be strong enough to escape? Probably not, at this rate. His crew needed him, and more importantly, needed him strong. What good could come from being the shichibukai's plaything? He stopped a moment and swayed with the breeze.

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. He had been in worse situations before and come out stronger for it. Obviously, Mihawk was not trying to hurt him—he would never have been so restrained with Zoro if that were the case. But it was difficult to tell just what the shichibukai wanted from him. Did he want love or sex or company? Of those things, only sex warranted this kind of extortion, yet it was the one thing Mihawk did not push for. Zoro wondered if he could use this to his advantage.

For a moment his mind stopped, and his legs continued carrying him towards the shore's distant song. He weaved between piles of rubble and annihilated buildings. Though faint, the stench of decay lurked beneath the ruins. Somewhere in the night, the hoots and screeches of a fight broke out. Zoro subconsciously tilted his head to the sound but continued on his way. At his side, one of his blades clacked quietly as he surmounted a pile, the rubble grinding into the soles of his feet. He navigated by touch and smell and sound until the slight surf numbed his calloused feet.

Sea foam blew up and around the young swordsman as he considered his encounters with his teacher. For the most part, Mihawk was taciturn but passionate—something that surprised Zoro little. His eyes were always piercing, which was also unsurprising, but there was always something more to them. Zoro could not quite pin what lurked in his teacher's eyes, but it seemed familiar, as if he had felt it himself at some point. It always made him tense just a little more then he cared to admit, like a rabbit watching a predator.

Deeply, he inhaled the salted air, savoring it and letting it fill his mind before releasing it. He looked to the luminescent clouds and over the black horizon as his thoughts returned. More and more, he found himself coming out to the sea at night to reflect on his situation. Often he wondered about his future, and how it would be crippled by Mihawk's distraction. He wondered at what the shichibukai saw in him that was worth throwing away pride and composure. He wondered about the sex, about whether Mihawk would actually go through with the threat, and about how well he himself would handle it. Fighting enemies was easy for Zoro: he was not so sure about loving them.

Before he knew it, dawn had sneaked up on Zoro. He rose from the rubble on which he sat—at some point during his nightly musings he always ended up perched on a rock—and absentmindedly dusted himself off. The castle stood in defiance of the morning gray, so bold and blotting that there was no way for Zoro to miss it. He weaved his way back through the dilapidated city, his swords quietly clattering to themselves. Before long he passed back through the incomplete arch and into the castle.

He found his room with ease, and fell asleep even easier.  It was only after he was woken a few hours later by Perona that he regretted staying up as much as he had. He refused to let it show. With vigor he ate—the ghost girl was slowly improving. He hustled through his exercises, ignoring just how intensely Mihawk watched him. Come evening all he wanted to do was sleep. If he had to be honest with himself, he missed the liberty to sleep as he pleased that he had on Sunny.

Dinner was silent. Zoro felt naked, having left his weapons in his room, but Mihawk had demanded it. He resisted the urge to eye the shichibukai, and instead focused on his food. Across from him, Perona took small bites, looking around her constantly. Though she had been doing that plenty lately, something about it bothered him. It reminded him of Robin when she had first joined the Straw Hats: there was no trust in the gesture. He wondered why the ghost girl did it—she was in no danger from him, and he doubted Mihawk would hurt her. He continued to eat, and after a while he ignored it, but his curiosity would not fade.

Despite how slowly Zoro ate, he was still finished before Perona. As he rose, he gave her a glance—she insisted that he take her plate as well as his own—and decided it would be a while still before she would be finished. He strode quietly past Mihawk, secretly glad for Perona's presence. With ease he descended the stairs, and only after he had meticulously cleaned his dishes did he return to the dining hall. The ghost girl was gone. Automatically, Zoro made for the remaining dishes.

“Do not worry about those,” Mihawk commanded quietly.

“You're not going to clean this up,” Zoro responded. As he stepped closer, the shichibukai grabbed his arm.

“No. She's going to clean her own mess, for once. You go ahead, I'll join you shortly.”

Mihawk released his student's arm and rose, heading silently out the door. Zoro looked down at the abandoned plate, again grateful for Perona's presence. Without a second glance he left, wanting nothing more than to be gone when Mihawk returned. Although he was compelled to go to the shichibukai's room, Zoro was glad to travel by himself. What time he had to spend alone with Mihawk was already enough without the older pirate extorting more from him. In the back of his mind, he knew that was why he had been bade to leave his blades before dinner instead of putting them away after.

Zoro's hand trailed along the wall as he descended the stairs. Despite how many times he had visited his teacher's quarters, the change in pressure between the dungeons and the upper floors of the castle was still blatant to him. He traveled in darkness, something he was becoming more comfortable with these days—it was something else he could train. Navigating in the dark was easier for him, too, though he would never admit it aloud. The slight carving of Mihawk's door under his fingertips grabbed his attention.

The door eased quietly aside as Zoro stepped inside. Though dark within, there were enough remnants of sunlight in the window that he felt no need to light a candle. Yoru glinted feebly from her master's bedside in a taciturn greeting. The young pirate sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the black blade. For a while, he remained still, half thinking of how that blade had irreversibly marked him, and now here he was, not five feet from it. He had to admit, Yoru was quite intimidating even without her master present.

Gentle, flickering light approached, filling the room. Mihawk filled the door, near-dead candle in hand. For a moment he paused, eying his student. He set his light down and approached, sitting beside Zoro. The younger man ignored his teacher's shoulder against his, instead keeping his eyes on Yoru.

“You've been very quiet today,” Mihawk noted.

“What, you wanted me to talk more?” Zoro did not turn to face the shichibukai.

“It's because you've not been getting sleep lately, isn't it?”

Zoro's head snapped around. “You've been following me.”

“I like to make sure you get to your room safely.”

“I don't need an escort; there's no one here.”

Mihawk's eyes flicked away slightly. He said nothing for a while and simply stared into his student's eyes. Though Zoro tried to look for anything there that might give him leverage against the shichibukai, he could find nothing.

“You should do more than just stare at the sea if you're going to be up all night,” Mihawk finally said. “I would recommend something not involving your swords.”

“Why not?”

“It is best for a warrior to have some recreation. We all grow stiff when we are tense for too long.”

“I do other things.”

“Training and drinking do not count.” He paused a moment. “You do not have to come up with something tonight. Just keep it in mind.”

Zoro grunted in response, his eyes returning to Yoru. He thought a moment in silence, grateful that his teacher had not tried anything yet, though it was not in his nature to rush things. A question came to his mind, one he had been asking himself since Mihawk instigated the relationship. He wondered briefly if it would be a good idea to ask. Quickly, he turned and faced Mihawk again, asking before he could convince himself not to.

“So... I still don't get it. Why do you have me here if you're not going to do anything?”

“Pardon?”

“You've blackmailed me to be here every night, you say you think you love me, and you stalk me apparently, yet you don't do anything more with me. The hell's the deal?”

Mihawk stayed silent for a moment, mulling over an answer, keeping his surprise off his face. Something about Zoro's tone was almost accusatory. He wondered if his student realized it. Slowly, he responded. “I have been trying to be respectful of your wishes, Roronoa—I know you would rather I not do more. If you want, I will cease restraining myself.” His voice wavered slightly. “However, I am curious: what do you want of me, if you are so opposed to this?”

Zoro frowned as he gave the question thought. “A decision,” he stated finally.

Silently, Mihawk weighed his options. He had already made himself the villain—why did he hold back? His gut told him he would lose something by letting go. Obviously he was losing something by being so indecisive—his student's respect. Perhaps it would be better to keep what he was sure to lose than try to feebly grasp an inkling. Besides, Zoro was practically inviting him.

“I want you,” he said quietly, his voice threatening to betray nerves. Mihawk found it odd to be voicing such intimate desires. There was more he wanted to say, but he could not quite get the words to come. Doubts that had been haunting him for nearly two months nibbled at him. He was crossing a line that made his gut strain. He steeled himself.

“All right.”

The shichibukai's eyebrows shot up. Zoro removed his shirt, some unreadable expression on his face. He rose and undressed silently, not meeting his teacher's eyes. Only after he was naked did Mihawk speak.

“I can?”

“You gave me no choice.”

The accusing words stung, but Mihawk pushed the feeling away. He reached out slowly, taking Zoro's hand gently. It was warm and callused. With a slight tug, he enticed the green-haired man to sit beside him. Zoro  plopped onto the bed like a dead thing, his eyes turned defiantly away. The blatant rebellion did not go unnoticed. Mihawk's mouth twitched in a frown. He was done with his gentility being spat upon.

He jerked his shirt off, tossing it to some corner of the room. The numbing rush of adrenaline shot through him. With more force than he meant, but still somehow not enough, he shoved his student back among the pillows. Mihawk towered over his student, strong arms supporting him. The two glared at each other for a moment in the half light of the room. Though the stifling air of the dungeon was cold, neither noticed.

Mihawk felt himself tense as Zoro started undoing his pants. He slid them away in a robotic gesture, his eyes fierce and blazing.  Boldly, he grabbed his teacher's cock, already half-hard. Mihawk's entire form flexed. It felt amazing, but there was a hard edge to the grasp that he knew instinctively was meant to maim. He could see it in Zoro's eyes: he would not be defeated. The elder's eyes narrowed. A challenge sounded fun.

He leaned forward, lowering himself onto his elbows. “What do you plan on doing with that now that you've got it, Roronoa?” he whispered. His core flinched as the grip tightened. Zoro said nothing. His eyes narrowed. Mihawk leaned forward, grabbing his student's mouth and wrenching it open with his tongue. The exotic flavor burst into his mouth as he kissed the younger man passionately. Teeth dug into his tongue, but he refused to withdraw it. Mihawk's hand cupped Zoro's skull, fingers grabbing his hair and pulling. The teeth clenched harder, and the clamp on his dick tightened. He moaned slightly.

Zoro released Mihawk's tongue long enough to shove his own into the elder's mouth. He propped himself on one elbow, pushing up into his teacher while retaining his grip. Heat seared across his chest as his body ground into Mihawk's. He kept his eyes locked on the golden ones before him, unwilling to relent.

Wrenching his head back, Mihawk broke the kiss. His arms folded, dropping his weight quickly—but not too quickly—onto Zoro. Though the younger refused to give quarter, he found himself pinned. His eyes did not waver.

“You should do something with that,” Mihawk purred, undulating his hips, “Before I find something for it.”

Zoro scowled, giving the member a somewhat sharp tug. He could feel Mihawk tense, giving him some grim satisfaction. He wanted to make the shichibukai regret extorting him, but somewhere in the back of his mind he felt relieved to see the return of Mihawk's commanding presence. The arm that had supported him slid down, resting him flat on his back. With both hands he worked, annoyed by the awkward angle yet watching the shichibukai's face intently. He was surprised to see hints of pleasure on the normally guarded countenance. Mentally, he took notes on what affected Mihawk the most.

Zoro felt the subtle shifting of weight as he worked his teacher dick. He saw no indication on Mihawk's face to indicate awareness of it, but he knew it was an opening. In an instant, he stopped handling the taught member and jerked his leg up and gave himself leverage with his arms. Shoving hard, the younger swordsman rammed his shoulder and chest up into Mihawk's bulk, determined to topple him.

The bed complained as they rolled. Mihawk smirked up at Zoro, their noses inches apart.

“Are you actually going to do something with me, or are you just going to hold me at bay?”

Zoro scowled, opening his mouth to speak but stopping short as the elder began to kiss his neck and shoulders. He felt himself tremble. He had long been passive in these encounters. Granted, not knowing his way had never stopped him before.

“I want...” he faltered.

“Yes?”

“I want you to rub my dick.”

A low chuckle rumbled in the shichibukai's throat. “You mean like this?”  Hands slid gently down Zoro's sides, coming together and caressing his growing erection. The younger man's breath caught in his throat. Mihawk resumed his kisses. There was something about the way he worked that could rile Zoro up despite how loath he was to the relationship. It was maddening to him that he could not fight such basic urges. He wanted to do the same to his captor, but had no firm grasp as to how.

A thought struck him. “This isn't any different from what you normally do,” he grunted, keeping his voice steady despite husky breathing.

“It isn't? Strange, I hadn't noticed.” There was something in the dismissive tone in his voice that made Zoro scowl.

“Don't fuck with me,” he growled.

Mihawk's hands stilled. “Didn't I say that's what I wanted, though?”

“No it wasn't.”

“And didn't you want me to take what I wanted?” He leaned into Zoro a little, so that their faces touched.

“You didn't mention mind games.”

Mihawk ignored the comment. “You demanded I take what I want from you instead of beating around the bush,” he said quietly, his voice like iron, “You insisted on this, despite my objections. You had your chance to say no, Roronoa.”

“No I didn't,” he barked, “You can't blackmail someone and then tell them they've got choices.”

For a moment, Mihawk thought of anything he might be able to say, but he was at a loss. He did not want this chance to end. Finally, he gave a small sigh.

“If you haven't noticed,” he said quietly, “You have me quite firmly where you want me. Do what you will, but if I'm unhappy with the results, I'll do as I wish until I am satisfied.”

Zoro snorted. “There's another empty threat.”

Without warning, Mihawk's palm slammed into Zoro's chest, threatening to knock him off-balance. Instinctively, he clutched bed clothes and flesh, anchoring himself. They glared at one another again.

“You'd better hurry before I start acting on my threats,” the shichibukai growled.

Zoro jolted back, his face ambiguous in the dark. He felt hands on him again, handling him in a way that flushed him with heat. If he were honest with himself, he would say he enjoyed the sensation. No, he more than enjoyed it. It was something he never wanted to end.

Now was not the time to be honest, though.

He pulled back, but the hands followed. Feeling his way, Zoro leaned back on his haunches, his own hands swatting Mihawk's away. Trembling, he took his cock in his hands and gently guided it forward, stopping as he felt flesh. His entire body ached from clenching so hard.

“Well?” Mihawk's voice seemed distant. The shadows of the room made the entire encounter seem unreal. Out of the corner of his eye, Zoro saw the silent gleam of Yoru. His own heavy breathing seemed to come from someone else entirely. The musk of sex filled his nose. He pushed onward.

Mihawk sucked in air through clenched teeth as he was penetrated. The pain shot through him in a way he was unfamiliar with, but he bore it. After all, he had asked for this. He could hear Zoro's audible gasp as he pushed his way deeper inside. Vaguely, Mihawk wondered what he felt like.

The younger man stopped when he felt he could go no further. Muscles were taut around him, and heat enveloped him. Again, if he were honest, part of him wanted to stay like this for a while. Another part—a more primal part—clamored for action.

“I'm moving,” he muttered, more for his own benefit than for his partner's. Though the undulation came naturally, he still moved slowly. Something felt off, but he could not tell what. Before he was aware, he felt himself pushing faster. The heat lured him in, pulled him in, held him in, and yet there was something raw about it that stung just as much as it intoxicated. His strokes became harder. Necessity forced him to grip Mihawk's legs for support. From some distance, he thought he heard the older man groan. He ignored it. There was a familiar tension building in him, like the swelling of waves. Zoro was determined to slam into it.

Even as he felt himself cum, he kept pumping, like his body was unwilling to stop. The room around him seemed to come back into focus, like waking from a dream. He could finally feel the cold air of the room on his slick skin, feel it in his open mouth and overworked lungs. He smelt the salt of sweat and the almost repulsive tang of sex. And he could finally hear the moans and demands radiating from Mihawk's core, which had been a constant groan in the background of their movement. His pace slackened and stopped.

“You haven't cum,” Zoro muttered as he withdrew.

Mihawk leaned up on his elbows. “It's fine. I'm satisfied.”

The younger man glared. “I'm not.”

Before either of them could stop him, Zoro edged back. In one sweeping movement, he had the shichibukai's dick in his mouth. He picked up a steady rhythm, emulating what Mihawk had done for him over the past weeks. Ignoring his own rapid pulse pounding in his ears, Zoro instead focused on the jagged breathing and hearty rumbles Mihawk seemed unable to keep from producing. It surprised Zoro that a man who had been so quiet and composed in earlier encounters could be so loud now.

Firm fingers dug into his scalp and pulled, trying to wrench him free. The tugging only encouraged him to go faster. He stroked and squeezed Mihawk's balls with one hand while the other explored beyond the groin, much to the shichibukai's apparent delight. He thought he heard a protest, but it was weak and almost instantly drowned out by another ecstatic call.

In his fingertips, Zoro felt Mihawk shudder vehemently. Cum exploded into his mouth, which he kept shut tightly around the trembling member. The taste flooded his mouth and filled his nose and made him want to gag. He felt the hands on his scalp slacken.

“You don't have to swallow,” Mihawk said quietly.

Zoro was more than happy to hear that. As he sat up, he tried to look at Mihawk's face, but the shichibukai had his head tilted back among pillows. For a moment, he wondered if he should say something, but he decided against it and slid off the bed. Gathering his clothes in silence, Zoro could not help but to snatch glances of the other man, who did not once move from his spread-eagle pose. Once dressed, he stalked out the door and down the hall. It annoyed him that the closest bathroom was not closer, but the liquid in his mouth made him hasten up the stairs. Before too long, yet not soon enough, he had found his way to the wash basin before expectorating.

After washing out his mouth, he started down the hall to return to his room, but something felt wrong. Without realizing it, he found himself descending the stairs in silence. His hand ran numbly across the doors. Instinctively, he stopped at Mihawk’s door. Zoro hung outside for a moment, wondering silently to himself why he had returned. All he could say was that it felt wrong for him to leave. Without a word, he steppe back into the dark room.

“Move,” Zoro muttered, returning to the bedside. Mihawk did not stir. Apparently he hadn’t moved the entire time. Zoro scowled and sat on the bed. “Move,” he commanded, more forcibly. The older man brought his head up to look at him. Saying nothing, he rolled out of Zoro's way. With a kick, Zoro was free of his boots, and he settled down next to Mihawk. After a moment of staring at the older man's back, he said, “Don't tell me after all this shit you're not satisfied.”

For a moment, there was silence. “No,” Mihawk finally replied.

“The hell do I have to do then?”

“No, that's...” he sighed. “No, I'm satisfied.”

“Why aren't you looking at me then?”

“What?”

“People who...have sex like that. They look at each other when they sleep, right?”

Mihawk craned his head to look Zoro in the eye.

“Not always,” he replied slowly, contemplating the question. He asked one of his own. “Have you never had sex before?”

“Not before coming here.”

Disbelief shot across Mihawk's face for a moment, but it was missed in the dark. He rolled back over, laying face-to-face with Zoro. For a moment, he just looked into the younger man's face, surprised to see it a mix of honesty and mild embarrassment. Finally, he gently rested his hand and Zoro's hip.

“You should sleep on this side,” he said quietly. Without a word, they somewhat awkwardly switched places. Once they had finally shuffled the pillows and pulled the blankets into place, they settled in a jumbled way. Zoro was out almost instantly.

*    *    *

Mihawk padded silently through the dark hall, his mind unwilling to let him sleep. As he came to the stairs, he turned one-eighty and paced in the other direction. He ignored the chill of the hall, as it had long since turned his extremities numb.

Each time he passed his door, he resisted the urge to peek inside to see if Zoro still lay asleep in his bed. His mind replayed their encounter on a loop, invoking memory in the dark. Shadows of the touches and caresses lingered on his skin, as though he was caught somewhere between the present and the past. The spice of Zoro's kiss stuck in the back of his mouth. Yet sweet as the memory was, his gut clenched.

Mihawk wondered if Zoro had enjoyed himself. The way the younger man had thrown himself into it suggested that he might have, but that could have just as easily been his normal fervor. It could have been impulse—Mihawk had to admit that his first time had not been glamorous, but he remembered desperately wanting it. There was always the chance he had been faking. The shichibukai frowned. Zoro's constant mentions of extortion made him sore.

Not to mention there was the problem of the blackmail. It kept him up at night—like it was doing now—and filled him with regret. As a swordsman, it told of his abandoned restraint, which he only now realized had been what he risked losing by sleeping with Zoro. It showed the weaker side of him that would get him killed if he were to let anyone see it. Letting Zoro that close was a terrible idea, especially when Mihawk was trying to teach him better. He sighed—he was a horrible teacher. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would be before Zoro used this weakness against him.

That was the other truth that haunted him: Zoro clearly did not love him. Sure, the young swordsman may have looked up to him at some point, even if it had been as a rival, but there was no doubt in Mihawk's mind that he had lost whatever admiration his student held for him. The relationship was disingenuous, which ate away at his conscience. His stomach clenched again.

Mihawk's mind blanked a moment as he came to the stairs again. His hand fell on the stone banister as he stared up the staircase. Again, he mentally replayed his encounter. Quietly, he sat on the bottom step, gazing into the darkness.

Forcing the relationship had been a mistake, Mihawk had realized too late. He thought over the last few weeks and about how his guilt and shame had been berating him for even considering extortion. It had been a moment of weakness that was now being thrown back in his face every time he saw Zoro's look of disdain. He was stuck with the consequences of his weakness.

Like lightning, realization struck—he had forced Zoro to have sex with him. Yes, he had been goaded into it, but he could have easily backed out. The thought made him sick with himself. It did not help his conscience any that it had been Zoro's first time.

Jumping to his feet, Mihawk was up the stairs in a flash. Down the hall he strode, and before long he came to Zoro's room. Silently, he gathered his student's blades and carried them gingerly at his sides, muttering apologies to them. Before long, he returned to his quarters and stepped inside. The green-haired man was still dead asleep, much to Mihawk's relief. Quietly, he set the three swords beside their master and stepped back, giving them a final look before grabbing his coat and leaving once more.

The night air was beautifully liberating. Sea breezes cooled him in a way that did not chill, and they seemed to whisk away his thoughts. Brilliant cloud-light filled the sky, freeing Mihawk from the phantoms that hung in the shadows of the castle. He left his nightmare behind him as he weaved his way towards the sea.

As he perched among the rubble and gazed out at the endless sea, peace settled over him. Mihawk knew everything would not be all right, but he found he was all right with that. He knew he was now stuck with the consequences of his actions, and he was all right with that. What he was not all right with was the fact that he had used blackmail at all, nonetheless against someone he felt he loved.

Perhaps, in the morning, he could work on remedying that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while. I apologize for the lack of updates, but I've been settling in at a new college. Let me tell you, four year institutes are a lot fiercer than a two year community college! As ever, I'd like to thank my lovely beta Rhov for being patient with me, as I'd like to thank all you lovely readers for your continued support and attention. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story as I can manage to produce it!
> 
> As I Am,
> 
> Lady Spritzy
> 
> 1/13/15


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